


The Long Way Home

by Meowzalot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF John, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, I suck at tags, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Murder, Nightmares, Opium, Original Character(s), Sherlock plays with costumes, Will add as they happen - Freeform, in denial Greg, in denial Mycroft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowzalot/pseuds/Meowzalot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of 'On The High Seas'. Very very highly recommended you read the first part. Seriously, you'll be confused if you don't.</p><p>Sherlock is on the trail of Moriarty. All paths lead right to London. Where John is trying to re-build the life he left behind.</p><p>Mycroft followed Sherlock hoping to keep his little brother alive. With the less than willing help of a certain silver haired captain.</p><p>-This version is most likely going to be deleted. My altered part two is already up and running.-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old faces in new places

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by the wonderful audreyneedsacase. Who has been amazing and agreed to keep dealing with me.
> 
> A quick warning. My posting dates might be a bit uneven for the next few months or so. There will be posts but not as often as the first part was. Real life, huh? It's a real bitch.
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read this though. Thank you so so much. I can only hope you find the same enjoyment in this section as you did the first.

Breathing heavily John rolled over onto his back, trying to control the rapid beating of his heart. His shoulder was throbbing, the pain slowly spreading until it was almost constricting. John clutched at the bare area of skin, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. 

John tried to piece everything together where it had been shattered by the dream. He wasn’t watching a blood soaked battle field, he wasn’t in some temple pool where boiling water poured down his throat. This was Greg's home, a spare bedroom that Greg was letting him rent for the time being.

It was completely safe here.

Sitting up now John held his face in his hands, repeating it over and over in his mind.

Almost a full bloody year since they’d returned and he was still... 

John tensed at the sound of movement outside his door, hoping that it was just in his mind. It was mortifying enough to wake up coated in sweat and tears burning his eyes but he just didn’t want Greg to see him like this. Hell, he didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

The noise fainted down the hallway after a few moments, leaving John to let out a relieved sigh. If Greg heard him screaming, as John assumed he did when he woke up with a raw throat, it was never brought up. A concerned glance but never a probing question.

The pillow felt cool against his cheek when he did finally lie back down, so that was something. It was a big bed for someone who was used to nothing bigger than a standard cot. Reaching out to the empty side John brushed his fingers along the never used pillow next to him.

Sleep was already taking over, leaving him in a state between dozing and awake. He could just picture someone else in bed with him. The long body taking up as much room as possible before latching onto him. That’s how it had been once.

 

Groaning weakly John struggled to pull himself out of bed the next morning. Nights filled with tossing and turning didn’t exactly lead to a well-rested morning but he wasn’t the type to keep to bed. No. Better to be up and working than wallowing in memories.

Rubbing at his sore leg John grabbed a cane leaning against the wall next to the door, leaning on it as he left the room. When he had been issued another cane ‘honoring’ his heroic service John had felt like another nail was being driven into his coffin. It was a beautiful work of art. Even had his name carved into the dark wooden handle.

The house wasn’t very big but it was more than enough space. After they’d both been returned simple Captain Gregory Lestrade had been given a hefty promotion. Not only had he stayed behind for a fellow man but he hadn’t given away any secrets.

With the promotion came money, and added responsibilities. John had been a little worried about getting underfoot but Greg had insisted he could stay. Harry had made it clear there wasn’t space but she was glad to know he was safe. Exactly what he had expected from his sister. He didn’t doubt she was happy to know he was safe but they had never been close as they’d gotten older.

So, here he was in a home more suited for a family.

The calling cards had stopped shortly after his return. Lady Sawyer was a sweet natured woman but her father had grown bored with the idea of a man like Doctor John Watson, a man damaged by war with not nearly enough to show for it, courting his daughter. The parties had grown stale with the conversation never progressing past pompous flattery.

Was this really what his life had turned into?

The ache in his leg grew steadily worse as John made his way to the breakfast table, finding his seat with a sigh. It was a little surprising to see Greg already up and completely dressed. He looked as worn out as John felt.

“Morning, John. Leg still troubling you?” Greg asked.

“Slept on it wrong I guess.” John tried to joke. It didn’t sound any better to say whatever was wrong with him was just growing worse.

Greg just chuckled along like he actually believed it. “Still plan on going to the prison?”

John knew he should eat but after just a bite his stomach rebelled at the idea of more. Pushing the plate away he nodded. He’d only gotten the job after talking to an old friend. Stamford had been more than happy to offer him the position. If anyone else had offered it John might have refused, seeing it as pity but Mike was a good bloke.

 

The ‘prison’ Mike spoke of was nothing more than an overcrowded jail house. Filled mostly with beggars, drunks, and the small time thieves . Such small places weren’t known for actually employing doctors but Mike had said they were trying something new. After how, how could any of the prisoners work if they were falling over dead?

Not exactly a clever joke but Mike had always been a bit of an odd duck with humor.

John shivered at the rainy chill in the air as he walked down the street. So many months later and he was still wishing for the warmth of an island hundreds of miles away from here. Had London always been so bloody cold?

A soft melody caused John to grow still, forcing what few people were out this early to walk around him and grumble in annoyance. They were the last thing on his mind as he looked up and around. His feet were following the sound before he could actually think it through, his leg not protesting at the rapid movement.

What was he doing? John took a side step into a deserted alley out of the way of others, needing a moment to clear his mind. That was just another struggling musician, of course! 

Pushing the music from his thoughts John hurried down the street, relishing the pain in his leg. It was distracting, which was exactly what he needed.

 

“Ah, John, early. Old habits die hard, hm?” Mike chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder roughly while leading the way down a long hallway. As Mike rambled away beside him John took in these new surroundings, fighting off the urge to rub his nose.

It reeked of humans crammed together without a chance to bathe. A part of Johns mind wondered how there hadn’t been an outbreak of disease yet.

For it being a smaller unit in the city there appeared to be an abundance of policemen. “Mike, what’s the reason for the added help? I don’t think you told me before.” John asked.

“I only know I asked for more doctors. As you can see the conditions aren’t exactly outstanding. I don’t bother questioning Forbes much anymore.”

“Right.” John licked his lower lip as they passed more uniformed guards patrolling the halls.

As the day progressed John found himself unable to think much of anything but the working conditions, or lack thereof actually.

Many of the people here were far from violent offenders. Mainly unlucky ones caught on the wrong side of the law in attempts to feed their families. Most, if not all, were sick with something but John was given a set list of symptoms’ to look for.

High fever. Quickly changing moods. Glazed expression. Prone to violence.

Which rose the question of what were they looking for?

Asking Mike got him nowhere. The man was one of the smartest men John had ever met but he seemed content to just follow the orders they were being given.

John was in the process of washing his hands when the screaming started. Grabbing his cane where it leaned against the wall he tried to hurry, following the noise until it brought him to a small room. The raw scent of blood hit him first, nearly causing John to reel back.

Mike stood beside a table as two uniformed men struggled to tie a gag into a young woman's mouth. She was on the small side, already tied up - her wild eyes scanning the room before landing on him. Her struggled renewed, tangled hair flying around her face. 

John felt bile rise in his throat at the sight of her. “Mike.”

“John! Dear me, did you hear that all the way upstairs?” Mike dabbed at his shiny forehead. 

Stepping further into the room he made his way towards Mike briskly. “John! John! It’s not what you think. I swear it!” Mike backed away, hands held up as if to fend off a blow.  
“Doctor Watson I presume?”

The speaker was a smaller man who looked about as trust-worthy as a fox in a hen house. Cold eyes watched the scene unfold from a corner across the room, showing no intention of stopping John if he intended to inflict harm to Mike or not. Not that he was.

Mike cleared his throat, gesturing to the shorter man. “John, this is Inspector Forbes.”

“Then what the bloody hell is this?” John demanded, tossing proper etiquette to the wind.

Instead of being offended Forbes only reaction was to go shut the door, turning the lock slowly. “Doctor Watson, I can assure you this creature was already mad from no fault of our own. We were forced to restrain her after an attempt to gouge one of my mens eyes out.”

After the initial shock wore off John could now hear the faint sounds of pain from another room but that didn’t explain anything.

“Doctor Stamford has given the impression you’re a reasonable man. Would you agree with that, Doctor Watson?” Forbes smiled calmly, hands folding at the small of his back.  
“The woman witnessed a murder. I was hoping she would be worth some sort of information but she turned out a little more hostile than anticipated.”

“Murder?” John tried to recall if he’d read anything about it in the paper.

“No reason to trouble yourself with it, Doctor. Your timing is rather welcome though. Stamford is needed here so why don’t you go tend to my guard.” An order.

John swallowed back the blunt of his questions. What mess had he gotten mixed up in?

“Yes, sir.” He said, revolted when Forbes smiled condescendingly at him.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

The door was shut, and re-locked, the moment he stepped through the doorway. Another guard took him next door where the injured man was holding a hand over one side of his face, trying to stop the bleeding.

Calmly John went to work, finding it easier to handle the blood than what he’d been doing all damn day. While tending to the bloody nail marks on the mans face he decided to speak with Mike as soon as possible.

Soaking his hands in warm water he watched the blood wash off, leaving the clear water a pale pink. Not a serious injury by any means but sometimes the most harmless wounds bled the worst. The guard was nothing more than a kid, struggling not to sniffle. A part of him just wanted to tell the boy to go home to his mother. Something about this place wasn’t right.

“You’ll be fixed up in no time.” John said, patting the young man on the shoulder. A rather handsome bloke he was. Watching him touch the stark white bandage covering that side of his face John chuckled, winking good naturedly. “The ladies love a good scar story.”

That appeared to perk the mood up slightly. Giving him one more pat on the shoulder John left, knocking sharply on the door next to them, listening closely. Not even a peep.

“Bloody hell, Mike!” He cursed, storming through the prison until he came to what was supposed to be an office for Stamford. Without so much as a knock John made his way inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Now, John, I know things looked a tad bit. .”

“’A tad bit’ what? That woman was mad! She should be in a proper hospital! Not a prison that I highly suspect is trying to contain an outbreak!”

Mike cleared his throat, nodding slowly. “Inspector Forbes has had her removed to the proper facility. He merely needed to talk with her.”

“About a murder?”

“Remember that, did you? Of course you did.” He chuckled weakly. “John, what I’m about to tell you needs to stay in this room. Can you swear that it will?”

“Of course.”

“There have been a few murders. Rather grisly murders actually. That woman was found at the scene. Inspector Forbes wanted to speak with her before having her taken to a hospital.”

John, oddly enough, didn’t feel much better at this small amount of truth. “I haven’t seen so much as a trace in the papers about a murder.”

Mike dabbed at his forehead, sighing. “Inspector Forbes thought it would be best kept out public notice. Considering the state of the bodies when they’re found. Please, I really can’t say more. The matter is being taken care of.”

“You don’t think people should, I don’t know, know about a murderer roaming the streets? And not just that, oh no, a _‘grisly killer’_ at that!” 

“John, please lower your voice! Forbes didn’t even want me telling you about any of this. Why don’t you go home early, hm? Take a little time to digest all of this, okay?”

If it hadn’t been an old friend asking that of him John would have refused but Mike was a good man. Forcing back the blunt of his annoyance he nodded, sighing weakly.

“The guard who had his face scratched should be fine. I want someone to keep a close watch on the wound until I get here tomorrow. Chance of infection are low but I don’t want to risk him losing that eye.”

“Of course. Consider it done.”

 

Even if he was leaving work early it was growing dark out. The streets no longer crowded. It made his walk easier but something just wouldn’t stop poking at the back of his mind.  
On a whim John side stepped into an alleyway, deciding on a rather backwards way to find his way home. As well as test a theory as to why it felt like something, or someone, was glaring daggers in the back of his mind. Maybe this was just another sign his mind was slowly going, reaching that breaking point where he’d never be able to come back from.

John kept his cane tapping loudly against the ground, pretending to struggle more than he actually was. His ears strained for any suspicious sounds. The faint sound of scuffling feet trailed him for a few turns, sending waves of excitement through his body. It shouldn’t have been exciting, only worrisome. Maybe even disturbing. It shouldn’t have sent the blood pulsing through his veins and actually make him feel alive.

They were only a few streets away from the house that belonged to Greg. There John pretended to be winded, rubbing his legs for emphasis. Leaning against a wall he took in a shaky breath not needing to fake it very much.

The scuffling feet had stopped but now it was a steady pace that came towards him from behind

“Excuse me, sir? Do you need help?”

John spared a glance over his shoulder, faking a weak smile. “No. Just. . old age I guess. Thank you for your concern.”

The man only a few feet away from him sounded higher born than he would have thought for a tracker. Little trace of accent, and well dressed.

“Quite a lucky thing I found you out here. There are many unsavory characters roaming around.” He laughed. Not even a pale hair out of place.

“That’s one way to say it.” John gripped his cane tighter as the dark eyes searched him.

“Oh, you aren’t a stupid man, are you, Doctor Watson?”

John felt his lips grow into a thin line, body shifting away from the wall to anchor himself firmly on the ground.

Well-Spoken Prick came at his front, taking all of Johns attention even as he heard movement behind him.

The cane flipped easier into the air, allowing him to catch the sharp pointed end. Essentially turning it into a club. Not the sturdiest of clubs but bringing it around to crash into the pricks face appeared to work, and left that man stumbling long enough to allow John to spin around.

He expected another hired thug, maybe even a murderer but not what he was now faced with. If the man had been a thug he was a poor one. Already knocked out and crumbling to the ground by a sharp blow to the head.

“You.” John murmured, cane slipping from his fingers.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

As promised Lady Sawyer had invited both Greg and John to her family home for whatever event required guest attendance. For a little while it had been more than Greg could have ever hoped for. After returning he had half expected to be released from his Captains rank in the Navy.

Instead he was moved up in the ranks. It wouldn’t be as exciting as being out on a ship but there would be chances to return to the ocean sooner or later. Until that time came Greg busied himself with work his new rank brought him.

Along with money and added responsibility this also brought on new attention.

Greg wasn’t arrogant but he’d always thought himself attractive enough. Not in the way John was where women just seemed to flock to him but still attractive.

Now he noticed the extra lingering glances at the parties. The giggles that just carried on and on. And he noticed his total lack of interest.

Every time he called upon one of the beautiful daughters of higher society he felt nothing. Maybe a little interest in the sense he could mentally admit she was beautiful, very much so but that was it.

There was one young woman.

Auburn colored hair kept neatly braided atop her head, eyes the color of the sky after a storm, and a pale dusting of freckles over her nose.

Rebecca Oates wasn’t the youngest maid that had shown interest in him, nor did she come from one of the richest families but something about her was perfect.

When her father had come to him to ‘hint’ at the impressive dowry his daughter had Greg had never laughed in the mans face. If he’d meant to be subtle about it he’d certainly failed. The message was clear. Lady Rebecca was getting past the prime of youth and Lord Oates wanted his daughter married off quickly.

And why shouldn’t he agree?

There was a home waiting to be filled with a family, and the idea of not being alone at night was more welcome than Greg was comfortable admitting.

John would be happy for them, or Greg hoped he would be. Of course John would remain in the house as long as he needed. That condition wouldn’t be altered in any way. It was all about telling him.

The engagement was being kept on the quiet side, as Rebecca had requested. Her reasoning was to bask in the news so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the congratulations’ that would start after an announcement was released.

Yes. Things were progressing for Greg in such a way as he really shouldn’t complain.

 

“Gregory?”

His eyes snapped open as his body jerked, nearly sending him flying off the little iron bench. Had he really fallen asleep? “Sorry about that.” Greg said quickly, raking fingers through his hair. With as little sleep as he’d been getting lately this moment to just relax had been far too tempting it seemed. Thankfully it had been in the ~Rebeccas last name~s garden instead of in public.

They were still in full view of anyone watching them, which was most likely Rebeccas mother. Since their engagement there had been a little leeway on the couple being alone but Greg didn’t push what boundaries his future mother-in-law set up.

“Did you hear anything I said?” Rebecca asked beside him, arms crossed. “And you talk in your sleep.”

Chuckling softly Greg tried to mentally push away the lingering drags of sleep. “Is that so? Hope I didn’t say anything too incriminating.”

“You said something about a Mycroft.”

The very blood froze in his veins as his brain struggled to produce a coherent reply in regards to that. “Mycroft? Bit of an odd name.” He tried to play off.

“I would say so. Anyway, as I was saying, would you be willing to push the engagement announcement back a bit more?”

“Rebecca-“

Both of her hands went to his arm, her stormy eyes wide and pleading. “Please, Gregory.”

Taking one of her hands he brought it up, placing a chaste kiss across the knuckles. “Alright then. I still need to tell John anyway.” He said, squeezing her hand gently. “And you could just call me ‘Greg’.”

“Gregory is your name, and it’s dignified. I like it.” She said, smirking up at him.

Another face flashed across his mind for a second, no more than that but it was enough to make his stomach twist.

Pardoning himself with the excuse that he needed to get home and finish up some work Greg hurried to leave, barely making time to say good-bye to his future wifes mother.

 

In the carriage ride home Greg tried to tell himself it wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. There was plenty of work he needed to take care of.

And that wasn’t even including finalizing the details of when Rebecca would move into his home. Leaning back into the plush seat he took in a large breath of air, letting the harsh taste of London air clear his mind.

At least it was getting better. The image of Mycroft was growing cloudier with each dream. Soon enough the bastard would be nothing more than an uncomfortable feeling in his memories.


	2. "From the desk of. . "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed by the wonderful audreyneedsacase. Thank you so much!
> 
> And thank you to the people still reading this. :3 Hope you enjoy.

It felt like at least a century that they stood there, watching and waiting to see what the other would do. In reality it couldn’t have been more than a mere passing of several minutes but Sherlock almost couldn’t tell them apart.

The shaggy blonde wig itched at his scalp, and the thick, ill-fitting, spectacles hurt the bridge of his nose. There were other things that altered his appearances. Careful application of face powder to change up the shapes of his face, a handy trick Irene had taken great pleasure in showing him.

Standing here now Sherlock felt his disguise melt away like he was just wearing an oversized hat. John had known the moment he’d looked at him. If he had replied right after John had said something maybe this could have been fixed. They would have parted ways with John just thinking he was just seeing things.

Sadly, he had been too shocked by John actually recognizing him to say a damn word.

“Do you know who these men are, John?”

Best get down to the issue at hand then.

Waiting for an answer Sherlock knelt by both bodies in turn, digging through the pockets.

“Oi! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” John hissed, grabbing his shoulder roughly.

“Rather sympathetic stance for a man who was about to have his throat slit.” Sherlock commented, yanking out of the firm grip. “I am merely making it appear as if they were robbed if they happen to be found before waking up. A high probability considering how hard you hit this man with your weapon.”

He heard John shift as he retrieved the cane from where it had fallen. “It’s not a weapon. Just a cane.” John murmured, weight once again being supported by the finely shaped wood.

“You didn’t answer my question. Though, I suppose there’s actually no point to that. You know why these men followed you, or at least have a theory, but you do not know them.”

 

This wasn’t happening. One of those bastards must have hit him and he was now going crazy. That wasn’t Sherlock.

It was never Sherlock.

“It is indeed I, John. Now, why do you think these men were following you?”

“Why does that even matter? What are you doing here, Sherlock?!”

“Arthur.”

John felt his head start to throb as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What?”

“Arthur Doyle. A humble writer by trade.” The voice had changed into something gentle, kind, actually timid! Everything that wasn’t Sherlock.

John tensed at loud voices calling down the alleyway on one side. “Sher-Arthur, we have to go. Now!” He said, tugging the others sleeve hard enough to make Sherlock stumble as he got to his feet.

There was only one place John could think of that was close enough. Grabbing at Sherlocks wrist he started running, cane held up so it wouldn’t snag on the ground but otherwise forgotten as John started to lead them back to Greg’s home.

“No, John!”

John tensed when he felt their hands link as Sherlock pulled him down another long alleyway, leading them in a direction he wasn’t familiar with.

After all the months apart it didn’t occur to him to disregard what the other said or did. All John could do was hold on tightly as he ran, forced to follow as he was dragged behind Sherlock again.

 

For the cover of a humble writer Sherlock hadn’t appeared to aim for the living arrangements of one. The small townhome wasn’t as grand as Greg's, nor was the neighborhood as ideal but it was a decent size.

John let his hand fall from Sherlock's as they entered, the wide grin not being quite so easy to remove. With the door shut behind them John felt all the questions from before come barreling through his mind. “Sherlock-“

“Sherlock! Is that you, dear?” The voice was older, female, and John knew whose it was even before the older woman poked her head outside a door beside the stairs leading up.  
“Mrs. Hudson? Is that really you?” John asked.

Her eyes went wide, hand coming up to cover the small ‘o’ her mouth had fallen to. “John? Oh, John! It really is you! I’m so glad Sherlock found you!” She started praising, half-way to them when John felt a strong hand grab his wrist and yank him towards the stairs.  
“Tea, Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock said simply.

“I’m not your maid, Sherlock dear.” Mrs. Hudson sighed but the little smile suggested they’d be getting tea soon enough.

The room Sherlock dragged him to was small but that might have been because of the clutter. Books piled around, dishes stacked on top of those, and clothing. Not just clothing. Wigs, make-up boxes.

“How long have you been here?”

 

For some it was a fair question to ask. It seemed a little narrow minded considering John had almost been killed in some back alleyway but Sherlock knew this might have come at something of a shock. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms.

“Do you want just me to answer that or is there anything else you wish to know? While we’re _sharing_.” He scoffed, taking a seat in front of a mirror to start removing the disguise. He watched John move around in the reflection, watching the thoughts gather to the surface before John shoved them away.

“I started looking for Jim after you left.” Sherlock sighed, placing the wig down onto a stuffed head.

“And, what? You came here because you got bored searching and had to find something better to do?” Johns tone suggested it was more of a joke.

“Partly.”

Turning around to face John he stood quickly, wanting to prevent any over reaction on Johns part. “My attempts at hunting Moriarty are at a stand-still. My last clue that I know for sure was not tainted at Moriartys attempts at a game led me here.” 

Sherlock sighed in slight annoyance when John tensed. “He isn’t here after you, John! The one you should fear now isn’t Moriarty but one of his dogs. A man by the name of-“

“Sherlock. John. Tea!” Mrs. Hudson was practically humming as she pushed the door open with a hip, bringing over a tray overflowing with tea snacks.

 

Out of habit John went to offer assistance, taking the tray and setting it down as Mrs. Hudson started asking him how he was doing. John answered in a polite but fast pace, mind still distracted by everything Sherlock was saying. And everything as yet unsaid. 

“I’ll just leave you two boys alone now. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, John.” Mrs. Hudson sighed, patting him on the shoulder gently.

John couldn’t help but snort at the idea of him talking sense into Sherlock Holmes. There were just some things you didn’t forget after running around with Sherlock, and John clearly remembered how much his word had mattered.

When the old woman was gone the smile dropped away, replaced by a look that showed how truly tired he felt. What was he doing here? Someone was trying to have him killed, and now he was with a pirate. That alone could have him tried and locked away for treason.

“Do you know, for a fact, who sent those men or not? I have enough of my own theories that need backing up.” He asked firmly.

Sherlocks hair was combed back, almost stuck in place where it had been held down by the wig. It made the atmosphere that much stranger.

“The prison you work at now is owned by a man who has ties to Moriarty.”

“I thought you said Moriarty wasn’t after me! Which is it?” John didn’t see this as an unreasonable question to ask. Demand really but was Moriarty coming after him or not?

“He isn’t!” Sherlock shouted, groaning as if having to explain anything was the most horrid of things. For Sherlock it truly might have been.

John closed his eyes tightly for a moment, breathing in and out slowly. The faint scent of tea eased the coiling muscles that were starting to ache. Without another word he took a seat, picking up a cup of tea for a somewhat mouth scalding sip.

The bite of pain helped clear away most of the foggy confusion of too many questions. Finally looking back at Sherlock he noticed the bags under his eyes that had grown darker, and even with those baggy clothes he looked thinner.

“Have a biscuit.”

“John, is now really the time for this?”

“I’m a bloody doctor. Sit down, shut up, and have a bloody biscuit.” John said firmly but also with a little smirk.

 

The small homemade biscuit held little interest for him right now. There was too much to do! Eating would just slow him down.

Sherlock frowned as one was tossed at him, catching it out of instinct. It honestly could have been his first real bit of food in a few days. The biscuit was no doubt made perfectly; Mrs. Hudson was as wonderful a cook as she was a good businesswoman.

With John now acting so calm he didn’t feel quite as frazzled. Sitting down he took the cup of offered tea, allowing his thoughts to settle.

“How’ve you been?”

Sherlock gave a huff, rolling his eyes before sipping the warm tea. “Please, John, do you honestly expect me to believe you’re content with mere small talk? I can see how impatient you are to know what I do. Your life hasn’t been an exciting one since you’ve been back.”

He watched John shift uncomfortably, eyes now grazing down into his own half empty tea cup. Something about what he said was wrong.

“Or are you telling me you actually do care what my life has become since we parted?”

Something uncomfortable constricted his chest as he watched John's face take on the faintest shade of pink. Sherlock was used to making things awkward, and slowly that was the direction this conversation was going.

Biting at the inside of his cheek Sherlock then cleared his throat, fiddling with the delicate handle of the fine china in his grasp. “I haven’t been bored.” He replied finally, mentally wincing when John laughed. It wasn’t a mocking tone though.

Things relaxed noticeably as John laughed, and even Sherlock cracked a grin and one chuckle.

“Guess that’s the important thing, eh? Can’t have you be too bored. God knows what trouble you’d get in to.” John laughed, shaking his head. This was the John Watson he knew! Not that hobbling man he’d been watching on and off for days.

It almost hadn’t seemed like John at first glance. He’d appeared older, more worn down. The cane gripped so tightly in hand Sherlock had wondered if Johns fingers would freeze in that clutching motion. 

At first glance an odd thought had been Sherlock wondering if he’d be able to see Johns ribs. Highly doubtful but it had been clear John wasn’t eating correctly. Most likely an event occurring outside of conscious thought, judging by how John was enjoying Mrs. Hudsons biscuits now.

What was the social protocol now? Ah, yes. “And yourself, John? Is London everything you imagined on your return?”

The laughter faded in the others eyes, lips still smiling but it was forced now. Too tight to be natural. “Ah, yes, exactly what I thought. Great. Wonderful. Yes.” John murmured, pouring another cup of tea and starting to mix in a sugar cube before his shaking hand caused him to spill some of the hot liquid onto his hand.

 

The tea burned but for a moment John could only sit there in shock at how clumsy he’d been. Mortification made the tremor in his hand slightly worse but, suddenly, Sherlock was leaning over him. The tea cup removed from his hand and a napkin soaking up the moisture on his hand.

“Are all military men as clumsy as you?” Sherlock scoffed, eyes never quite meeting his. “It’s not a wonder how Mycroft keeps taking your ships.”

“You Holmes brothers never play fair. Besides, when you’re ‘cursed’ it’s an unfair advantage, wouldn’t you say?” John chuckled softly, feeling a little more relaxed as Sherlock went to pace back and forth in front of the window.

Nothing was said for a few moments as John tried to focus on steadying his hand. If this was anything like before he was sure to have a nightmare tonight. One of those extra bloody ones that woke him in tears even as he prayed for merciful darkness to give him permanent peace. He half expected Sherlock to go on and on about how far he’d crumbled.

Whenever he looked up Sherlock was pacing, ignoring him.

“Than-“

“Shush, John.” Sherlock huffed, waving over his shoulder to signal for silence.

John wasn’t sure if Sherlock actually wanted him to be silent or if he was showing that rare dose of humanity most claimed he wasn’t capable of having.

Tossing the tea stained flannel onto the tray John fought back the urge to say ‘Thank you’. 

“Things have been going as well as I could have hoped. I stay with Greg, ah, Captain Lestrade. Work in a prison.” 

“Forbes, have you met him?” Sherlock asked, turning away from the window.

John tried to ignore how the light framed Sherlock, making his blasted eyes damn near glow. Picking up a biscuit he nodded, taking a bite. That missing appetite of his had made a vengeful reoccurrence. “I only started today but I had a run in with him. Why does it concern you?”

“I already explained my last untainted clue led me here. The trail, as it were, has grown cold. Until I find another trail I see no problem with taking care of things others are too stupid to handle.”

Something flicked to life in the back of his mind. “Those murders? Is Forbes connected to it?” Was Mike connected to the murders? The idea of Mike having the stomach for murder just didn’t fit! It wasn’t possible. Despite being a doctor Mike Stamford still grew uncomfortable with blood.

“Yes and no. That certainly explains why Forbes had those men sent after you. You’re not so spineless as to just follow along.” Sherlock said with a small grin. “Forbes knows of the murders, has for quite some time. Most likely has a hand in determining who dies. Or he did.”

“Did? He’s not the killer but he knows the murderer?”

“Think of it as a failed experiment. A trained dog that developed a taste for what they were hunting. A rabid dog with the sense to keep surviving.”

John would have been charmed by the excitement in Sherlock's voice if it wasn’t for the fact this was about a murderer!

Hell, he just felt so damned tired all of a sudden. Like the energy was just drained out of him. “I should go.” He said quickly, standing now before he grew too lethargic to leave his seat.

Sherlock looked surprised for a second before his face took on that familiar neutral expression. A part of him wanted Sherlock to ask him to stay but John knew he’d just refuse. He had to refuse.

“Olivia is downstairs with Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock tossed out casually.

John almost laughed, shaking his head. Another time, when he didn’t feel like death just standing.

They parted with nothing more than a polite nod, or at least John nodded his good-byes. Sherlock was already pacing at the window mumbling to himself.

 

Hearing the door shut downstairs Sherlock stilled by the edge of the window, watching John walk away. The limp was there but barely so. London could be everything John needed it but he wasn’t taking advantage of anything. Such a mind and he was letting it be dulled by the fools around him.

Sherlock felt his mind fly around the small room before his body could even attempt to keep up. With a pale reddish color wig in hand Sherlock started ‘dressing’ for the evening.

Thick spectacles added the final touches to the curly red hair, and less ragged clothing he changed into. Not a rich man at first glance but comfortable. The violin case would be a handy excuse for lingering around the streets. A wonderful way to stand around and examine the crowds.

Heading downstairs he could hear Mrs. Hudson moving around, most likely cooking something else. The woman loved to try and shove cakes down his throat like he was Mycroft. There was no point in bothering the old woman to tell her he would be gone for the night.

Hearing the faint bark of Olivia he grinned before heading out.

It was only a few blocks away that he heard a faint chirping. For the common ear it might have sounded like any other type of bird that happened to fly into the city before choking to death on city dwelling decay.

Sherlock listened carefully before changing direction, coming to a small tavern that he theorized would collapse during the next heavy rain. He didn’t linger once inside, knowing exactly which table to go to. If the glaring figure wasn’t already a dead giveaway.

“Donovan, taken up a new occupation, have we?”

“I don’t have to be here, Holmes. The only reason I haven’t turned you in for the reward money is that I owe Irene this favor. Can’t believe she called it in on a twat like you.”

Sally Donovan, introduced to him by Adler , didn’t bother trying to pretend she liked him. There had always been a deep sense of loathing on both their parts but Sherlock didn’t worry about her ‘turning him in’. Hate him she might but Irene had called in a favor for both information and his safety.

“Has there been another?”

Sally shook her head, pushing a loose strand of curly hair away from her face. “Not yet but there was a rumor about Forbes growing nervous. That doctor friend of yours really should learn to watch his back.”

“Forbes won’t send his dog after John. It would bring too much attention.” He scoffed as if Sally should have realized that to begin with. Still, it was a tad bit worrisome. Sherlock had always been wondering if Forbes would try something else, and this only confirmed it.

A pint was shoved into his hand as Sally finished her own. “Already have someone watching him. He might be our chance to nab Forbes, can’t have him getting killed.”

“He isn’t bait.” Sherlock ground out, squeezing the cups handle hard enough to leave marks on his palm. 

Dark eyes searched his face before an eyebrow rose. “She wasn’t joking.”

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek, growing steadily more frustrated by the details Sally was giving away. Leave it to Irene to gossip about his private affairs.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

The things he put up with for his younger brother. Mycroft would never claim he was a perfect older sibling. That being said if it wasn’t for him it was guaranteed Sherlock would have been dead by this point in his life.

Mycroft was tapping out a mindless rhythm onto his desk as his eyes scanned the paper again. Chasing Moriarty had been understandable. On that endeavor he had given his full blessing but this act of Sherlock running off to London. That small pounding in his head kicked up full force as he fought off the urge to crumple the note.  
Did Sherlock honestly think he wouldn’t find out?

Athena stood to the side of him, looking politely bored as usual when he expressed such displeasure.

“And Mrs. Hudson went with him.” He sighed. It made sense. Sherlock was ghastly at handling people on a good day, whereas dear Mrs. Hudson was impossible not to be charmed by to some degree. Obviously meant he wouldn’t be playing the part of street beggar, at least not as a permanent state of living.

It wouldn’t be hard to find Sherlock.

There were plenty of little eyes around the city but there was another factor. One that Mycroft wasn’t exactly thrilled with if he were honest. John Watson would be contacted by Sherlock, or at least have the young Holmes keeping close tabs on him. Sherlock hadn’t really adjusted well with losing the doctor. Their ‘interaction’ had been brief really but Sherlock was still caught up in thoughts about the man.

He had adjusted better than his brother. Even took another lover for a short span of time but it had grown dull very quickly. The man, in his brother's words, had been a dull creature that would easily be outsmarted by a child.

“John Watson still takes up residence with Captain Lestrade I presume.” Mycroft murmured, nodding when Athena confirmed it.

“Sir, there’s something else you should know.”

Mycroft looked at the woman carefully, raising an eyebrow at her tone. For anyone else it wouldn’t have been noticeable but she sounded nervous. His dear Athena actually nervous?

 

Greg had every intention of getting home and telling John about Rebecca. Well, he knew of her already but not about the engagement. He was happy about the engagement. Rebecca was a little sharp tongued but it kept things from getting dull.

It was past twilight when he finally got home but it felt much later. “Bloody hell I’m getting old.” Greg mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped through the door.  
“John? Oi!” He called, frowning. “Josephine!”

It felt a little weird having servants at first. Still felt weird really but a lot of things were a little strange feeling about this entire change of lifestyle.

The small woman appeared almost in silence, much like she always did. She was younger with a caramel complexion that made her blue eyes stand out more so, and a sweet natured deposition. Seemed to go hand in hand with the at first glance timid nature. Over the months she’d relaxed more, prone to smiling warmly at both him and John. Overall Josephine was one of his favorites if he had to pick. She reminded him the most of Molly.

“Yes, sir?”

“Is John back yet?”

“He arrived a few minutes ago, sir. Said he wasn’t feeling well.” 

“Could you tell him to meet me in the study, or whatever it’s called. Bring some of those little tea cakes. Thank you.” Greg knew those frilly little cakes were one of the only things John seemed to have the stomach for lately. He felt a little guilty getting John up if he was unwell but this news couldn’t wait any longer.

Pacing around the study Greg tried to think of the best way to just say it. It really should have been simple, shouldn’t it? Just tell his best mate that he was getting married. Just blurt it out, following that John was allowed to stay as long as he wanted.

The fresh tray of tea and tea cakes filled the room with a heavenly blend of aromas but Greg felt his stomach knot at the scent. Picking up one of the small cakes he sniffed it quickly, relaxing at the sweet scent now.

Getting married. He was actually going to get married.

“Greg? What’s so damn important?” Johns voice shook him out of his little shell, causing him to jerk slightly and squeeze the cake too hard.

Chuckling weakly he brushed the crumbs off his hand, watching them fall back to the tray. “John, as you know I’ve been courting Rebecca Oates for a while now.”

John gave a snort, no doubt at his ridiculous choice of words. Bloody hell it was just so hard to think like this!

“We’re engaged.”

The air thickened as John just stared at him, eyes going wide before he blinked hard. “What? Congratulations!”

Greg relaxed as he was pulled into a tight hug. Even if John wasn’t vocal with all of his excitement Greg felt it. “The announcement hasn’t gone out yet. She wants to hold off for a while.”

“Gregory Lestrade engaged. Never thought I’d see the day.” John chuckled after pulling away; smiling so wide Greg worried his face might get stuck that way.

It meant more than anything to know John was happy for him but there was something else to say. What was it? Oh, right. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, John.” Greg added questioningly, grabbing his friends arm when John tensed. “Don’t even think it’s about me feeling sorry for you. Mate, you saved my life. I owe you everything.”

John pulled away, clearing his throat. The man had a knack for words but emotions were always a little more complicated for his friend. “You would have done the same for me. You don’t need to. . no, you don’t need to thank me.” John said with a shake of his head.

“Stubborn bastard.” Greg chuckled, pulling him into another hug.

The tea was still steaming when John left, claiming the need for more sleep. With all the nightmares Greg didn’t fault him for it.

Alone again he sat at a desk that felt too new to actually feel like his. Everything was still neatly in place from where he hadn’t worked much from this location yet. The drafted first announcement for his engagement lay on top. One glance and his stomach felt like it was fluttering. A strange thing to feel for a man of his age but didn’t he have some right to be nervous for his upcoming marriage?

A small envelope caught his eye. Delicate patterns traced over the front were the only stand out feature. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? He was always so careful to put letters up correctly so they didn’t end up a scattered mess.

“From the desk of Charles Augustus Magnussen.” He murmured.

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

Greg was getting married. Actually settling down with another person. Shaking his head John sat his cane by the bed before starting to undress for the night. Again.  
The wrinkled clothes tossed to the floor would be dealt with in the morning. He just needed to rest.

Nothing from this day felt real. From the prison, to being followed, to. . Sherlock. God in Heaven save him. That stupid blonde wig. John chuckled softly as he pictured Sherlock wearing it again. Understandable considering what would happen if anyone so much as saw his face. Well, it was doubtful everyone knew what Sherlock Holmes looked like but it sounded more dramatic to wear a disguise, and what was Sherlock Holmes if not dramatic?

John reached up to place a hand over the warped flesh of his scar, rubbing at the aching muscles beneath the skin. Outside he could hear faint music starting up and a part of him wanted to scream out the window.

The soft chords of the violin were so skillful that he could almost picture the long fingers caressing the strings. Laying back under the soft duvet his fingers played out a little pattern over the white surface.

What bloody business did a pirate have learning how to play something so beautifully? Especially such a pompous twit like Sherlock?

Rolling over to bury his face in a pillow John reached under the cool cushion, fingers wrapping around the leather bound handle of his knife. Old habits never quite died out for someone like him. With the lulling tune playing so close by John felt himself actually start to doze off peacefully, unworried about any drama that might take place tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finish reading through all of that? Fantastic! You're fantastic!
> 
> Comments comments comments. Please and thank you. That's how I know what I'm doing works for ya'll. If you can't that's fine. I understand of course. Kudos are also lovely but if you feel the story doesn't deserve it yet that's completely fine as well.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	3. The Smuggler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, big thanks to audreyneedsacase. Amazing beta! Thank you so much.
> 
> And thank you to the people reading this. :3

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

The note felt heavy in Greg's hand as he re-read it. The words hadn’t changed, not that he expected them to. It just felt a tad bit surreal. To be summoned to a personal meeting with a man like Charles Magnussen was an honor not even his superiors had been given, if they were to be believed but why lie about it?

Magnussen was a man who ranked up there with having power but no one exactly understanding what he did. He had a firm footing in both military and prison system handlings but that’s where Greg's own personal knowledge stopped.

Tapping the invite against his thigh Greg tried to fight the sleep in his eyes. Someone would be by in the morning to escort him. So, less of an invitation and more of an order. Unable to think clearly anymore Greg forced himself to bed, the little piece of paper still gripped tightly in hand.

Morning brought with it a fresher perspective, that this wasn’t destined to end poorly. With still a heavy weight knotting in his stomach Greg went to take his usual spot at the dining room table. The knot made it nearly impossible to choke anything down but habit had him forcing down a few bites.

Years of having to keep his face schooled into a military blankness came in handy as he waited. And even more so when Greg was sitting in the back of a carriage with the windows closed off.

 

Greg had only seen a shark twice in his life. One of which had been in the water, many years ago when the ship he’d been ordered on had drifted into warmer waters. A simple mistake on his part had found him in the water, struggling against the waves as terror soaked into him.

It hadn’t been the waves or the fear of drowning that had filled him with such fear. No. It had been the creature swimming towards him, the eyes.

He hadn’t thought about it in years. Looking into the eyes of Charles Augustus Magnussen brought the memory back full force.

“Captain, so glad you could join me.”

Greg kept standing as Magnussen sat, waiting until a seat was offered. As polite manners dictated.

Magnussen seemed content to sit there mixing sugar into his tea, as if it was a science that required all of his attention. The gentle ‘clink’ of the spoon tapping on the inside of the china cup filled the room, highlighting just how little was being said.

Keeping his hands clasped at his lower back Greg waited, growing more unnerved with each passing minute.

“You’re wondering what I had you brought here for. Nothing as drastic as you’re thinking, Captain Lestrade. Just some information only you could give me.”

“And what would that be, sir?” Greg kept his face politely blank as Magnussen tended to his tea, licking at the spoon before placing it on the tray. A little peculiar but not his place to judge.

“Oh, you’ve already given everything I need to know, Captain.” Magnussen chuckled, lifting the cup to his lips. “How is Lady Oates? She must be thrilled.”

Quickly Greg dug a nail into his palm to contain the surprise. “About what, sir?”

“Hmm.” He murmured, setting the cup down and pulling his glasses off to clean them. “You’re like an open book. To be fair most everyone is.”

Images of the circling shark came to mind. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow, sir.”

“You wouldn’t.” Magnussen waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

Under normal circumstances Greg would have made sure he was actually dismissed but something urged him to leave. Just to get out and as far away as possible. And Greg was never one to ignore gut feelings. Too many years at sea for that.

As far as Greg knew Magnussen didn’t have an actual office in the city. Merely came in to the government buildings and took over space when he needed it. The entire building felt soaked in that mans presence.

Once the door was shut between them and he was around at least two corners away from Magnussen he undid the collar button at his throat, letting himself have a little breathing room.

Greg gave a polite nod to the coachman waiting outside. It wasn’t the same man as before, was it?

“Sir?”

“Sorry. Just. . are you here for me?”

The odd look had Greg clearing his throat, nodding curtly. “Sorry. Long. . morning.” He tried to casually explain but he felt a little nutty all the same. Must not have gotten a good look at the mans face before.

 

The gentle rocking motion of the carriage relaxed him. If only for the fact it took him further and further away from that man. There was just something Greg didn’t like, and that was excluding the fact Magnussen hinted at knowing about his engagement to Rebecca.

Greg let his head rest against the seat, sighing softly as his eyes drifted shut. He was content to remain like that until the carriage came to an abrupt halt, the horses letting out noises that sounded like discontent.

“Oi! Everything alright out there?” Greg called, waiting for an answer before knocking at the roof of the carriage. “Oi!”

He jerked away from the door that was pulled open, preparing to lunge for the other door when a familiar voice called out to him. “Captain Lestrade.”

“Athena?”

The blood drained from his head in a rush, leaving him speechless long enough to let Athena settle and the carriage to again go on its way.

“Athena.”

“Yes.”

It didn’t quite make sense. Athena was here. There was only reason she’d be here.

“Let me out.” He said firmly, mentally calculating how much injury he’d sustain by simply throwing himself from the carriage.

Athena gave no reply. Merely sat there letting him stew in his own confused anger until they stopped again.

“This way, Captain.”

 

The door wasn’t so much as opened as it was shoved. Mycroft Holmes barely spared it a glance since all of his attention was one the silver haired man storming into the room, face flushed and body nearly trembling with the effort to remain calm.

Gregory was not happy to be here.

Mycroft pushed aside the emotion that threatened to stir in his breast at that. This wasn’t a heartfelt reunion. It wasn’t meant to be.

“Gregory-“

“I should wring your bloody neck right now, Holmes!”

Gregory was an obvious ball of nervous energy. The effort to keep himself calm was wearing thin. At closer inspection Gregory appeared less enraged and more scared. Like a caged animal.

Tact. God save him he was turning into Sherlock.

“Tea will be right up, sir.” Athena said from the door before pulling it closed, leaving them alone for the current time.

“I am most grieved we should meet again in such a way, Captain.” Mycroft said finally, gesturing towards the seat in front of his desk. He wasn’t very fond of this office space. Creatures of habit rarely liked such drastic change but it had been necessary. “Congratulations on the happy news.” He offered.

Dark eyes narrowed on his face. “What do you want, Mycroft?”

Mycroft felt the forced polite smile fade somewhat. Well, he had tried being polite first. “Sit down, Gregory.” He said calmly, hard edge to his voice. The way Lestrade almost reacted sent a shiver down his spine that made Holmes harshly curse his weak mind. 

“Charles Augustus Magnussen.” He said when the other refused to sit. “I know you will refuse to tell me anything. It’s also painfully obvious you have nothing to tell. Yet.”  
Curiosity peaked through for a moment. Wonderful.

“Other sources have shown you’re to start working very closely with Magnussen. The reasons were unclear but-“

 

“You want me to spy on him?” Greg hissed. This man! This. . this pirate! Had had him brought here, practically abducting him, to ask him to spy? “I never took the great Mycroft Holmes for a stupid man.”

Uncomfortable emotion twisted in his chest. The type that made it nearly impossible to breathe and made a person only want to waste away until it ceased.

Mycroft merely sighed, pushing up from his chair. The all too familiar cane tapped at the wooden floor as Holmes moved around the desk, closing distance as Greg fought to keep his stance. He wouldn’t falter under that bastard's mockery. Turning to face him Greg tried to breathe subtly through his mouth, not wanting to catch even a scent of Mycroft.

“Gregory, what do you think most men in your position would have done by now?”

The cane brushed along Greg's leg, making him step back before flushing pink and moving back in place. “You mean when they’re not being held against their will? Trying to kill you now would just be suicide.”

One eyebrow rose, a slight smirk forming. “Now, Captain Lestrade, when was it said you were being forced to remain here? You assumed this was against your will despite only being greeted by Athena, not a guard in sight.”

What was Mycroft getting at?

“My orders were to bring you here but not force you. You aren’t being forced to remain here, Gregory.”

“Shut it, Mycroft.” He said firmly.

The smirk widened, making his blood run cold.

“You really should consider speaking to John. If he’s not busy with Sherlock.”

The self-control slipped as Greg reached up, fisting his hand in the front of Mycroft's neatly pressed coat. Mycroft did nothing more than chuckle, bringing the cane up to press it against the fist holding him.

“If you wish to leave the door is right over there, Gregory.” Mycroft said.

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

For the first time in months John woke up hungry. His stomach rumbled with force, making him hurry through the process of dressing for the day.

The plate Josephine sat in front of him was cleaned within minutes. The rich food almost relaxing him enough to sleep again. Biting into a slice of bacon he had a flash back to yesterday. Sherlock, Arthur, a pirate either way honestly.

What were the chances none of it had even happened?

“Dr. Watson, sir?” Josephine spoke softly from beside him.

“Hm?” He glanced down at the empty plate and then her questioning gaze. “Oh, yes, done. Thank you, Josephine. That’ll be all.” John said a tad bit awkwardly. As the plates were cleared away he went to leave, getting out of the maids way. A part of him wanted to help with the mess but the last time he’d tried that Josephine had gotten paranoid she wasn’t doing her job right.

So, on with the day it was.

London was still waking up as he walked down the streets taking him to the prison. It made it easier to think. Now he just tried to focus on what Greg had told him last night.  
Rebecca was a nice woman. A little blunt and cold but that didn’t mean she was that way towards Greg. Greg wouldn’t settle. He wasn’t the type.

Getting married. Children.

No matter what Greg said John didn’t plan on remaining in the house that much longer. He didn’t like the idea of being some fixture in their lives as they built one together. That made him sound no better than a table or something. It was highly doubtful he would ever find a wife. The idea of talking one of these old goats into marrying off a daughter to him seemed cruel. Forcing the poor girl into being stuck with a broken man for a husband.

John winced as his leg gave a throb, the food in his stomach churning in a less than pleasant manner.

“Excuse me, doctor? Dr. Watson?”

The voice was unfamiliar, causing John to tense as he turned to face whoever was begging his attention. Just because it happened to be a woman didn’t make her any less dangerous. Though, he was worried about her sheer look of panic.

“Dr. Watson, please, you don’t know me but Josephine told me about you. Please, I need a doctor. Well, not me exactly.”

Dark eyes grew shiny as she tried to compose herself.

John couldn’t help but push away most of the mistrust, his desire to help drowning out the paranoia. “It’s fine, miss. What’s wrong? An accident?”

“He. . he fell! My h-husband.” She said weakly, grabbing at his sleeve.

Patting her hand calmly he smiled easily. Surely Mike would understand this, right?

“Lead the way and I’ll see what I can do, Mrs..?”

“Donovan. Sally Donovan.”

 

The room was heavily saturated with the hefty scent of smoke. Sherlock only added to the years old smells as he blew out a puff of smoke from a neatly hand-rolled cigarette, licking his lips slightly while nudging the ashy tip into a tarnished silver ashtray by his knee. 

Sherlock blinked back the burning desire to rest. Years of restless nights and he now felt tired? Mrs. Hudson said he was pushing himself even further since they came to London but why should that matter? His body could handle this and more!

Where was Sally?

Short of being murdered the woman wouldn’t fail. Sherlock didn’t much care for Sally but she would get whatever put in front of her done, and she would never betray Irene's trust. Maybe his but not Irene's. It was a thin strand that held them together but it was stronger than anything else he could hope to form. What with his people skills.

John wouldn’t turn her away either. Bleeding heart that he was. John would most likely just smile and follow along. That could get him killed one day.

Not to mention this place played along with the story Sally was supposed to give him. A run down home in a seedy part of the city.

“It’s this one right here, sir.” Sally's shaking voice reached his ears first. Just enough drama without making it sound too dramatic. A wonderful asset she was proving herself to be.  
Sherlock stood to the side out of view, hidden by the door as it opened. Even a hint of him being here and John would bolt.

The soft shuffling was more telling than actually seeing him. John was limping again but it wasn’t quite as bad as it had been over the last few days. Had he eaten? Sherlock cursed his weak mind for growing distracted already.

When Sally shut the door John was already tensing, sensing trouble when he saw no one else in the one room shack of a house. Only growing angrier Sherlock was put into view after the door closed. 

“Sherlock? You work for Sherlock?” John directed his first question of outrage at Sally, who merely huffed in annoyance.

“I don’t work for anyone. Let alone this freak.”

Sherlock was very much used to the phrase but was a little surprised to see how John flushed at it, jaw setting tightly. Why should he care? She wasn’t calling John a freak.

Johns tongue darted out, lingering on the corner of one side of his mouth. Suggesting he was nervous but he didn’t appear fearful. A good sign. 

Quickly he started explaining why John was here, hands starting to move along with his words out of habit. Beside him Donovan stepped further away, arms folding in front of her in a protective way like she was worried he might attack. In front of him John merely stood still, actually shocked into inaction.

Mad. Sodding mad.

Sherlock never pretended to be a sane person. If there was a dangerous situation he would opt for the danger rather than not. Clearing his throat John let the idea settle in his mind before speaking.

“You want me to have Mike hire you at the prison so you can look around under Forbes' nose?”

Sherlock gave him annoyed look. “I just said that, John. Really.” He grumbled, arms crossing.

Even under the entire disguise of make-up, glasses, and that silly wig Sherlock shone through. Nothing could hide that stubborn glint in his eyes. Even the way he was standing was still Sherlock.

The small chuckle was less that mirthful, but John wasn’t sure what else he could say.

“Either you say yes or I turn him in.” Sally threatened. “Freak here says you saw a woman being roughed up yesterday. They claim she was mad? I knew her! She wasn’t mad last week before she went missing. Whatever they did to her made her like that. What they’re doing needs to stop." 

If Sherlock was worried about being turned in now he didn’t show a reaction of any sort.

“Him being a famous pirate and all should get him locked up where he needs to, right?” Sally continued.

“You don’t know that. They could bloody well shoot him on the spot!” John snapped, fingers numbing around the handle of his cane as he gripped it tighter.

Why did he care? This had nothing to do with him. Not really. Whatever stupid thing Sherlock planned on doing was completely on him, not John.

John bit harder at the inside of his cheek, shaking his head.

“Bloody bastard.”

This had to be one of the stupidest things he’d ever done. Planned on doing, anyway. 

 

John was in a conflicting fit of anger and confusion. Sherlock remained silent through the whole ordeal of Sally blatantly lying to Johns face. It was too big a risk saying who he was just to get him arrested. Moriarty finding out was assured at that point.

Sally shut the door behind John who left, cursing under his breath with every step. “Now that that’s taken care of.” Sally chuckled proudly. “And you have no right to look at me like that.”

The corners of his mouth turned down in fake confusion before Sally glared. Blasted woman.

“John Watson is not...” For once in a very long time words failed him. What could he say that wasn’t completely ludicrous?

“Isn’t what? Means to an end? Is that what you were about to say? John seems like a nice bloke, far too nice to be around your type but when did you start caring about anyone but yourself?” Her tone wasn’t exactly cruel. Sherlock had never demonstrated an actual understanding of what it meant to care for someone for anything other than means to an end. Not like Moriarty but he didn’t waste words on anyone.

He was ruined. What a laugh Mycroft would have.

An itching sensation blossomed first in his palms before spreading slowly. Sally didn’t bother to ask where he was leaving to, and Sherlock offered no information. All he craved was for his mind to shut off. If only for a little while.

 

The little distraction thankfully didn’t cause him to be too late. Good thing considering what he was about to ask of Mike.

Tapping on the door softly John waited until given the okay to enter. Right away he could see how overworked Mike appeared at first glance. From the bags under his eyes to the wrinkled clothes. Both completely out of place on the man. Mike wasn’t lazy but he had always taken care of himself.

“John! Sit down. What can I do for you?”

It would have been better to just flat out ask. Go ahead and bring the idea up but the poor guy looked almost dead in his chair, and had looked perfectly fine yesterday.

“You alright then?” John asked instead, nodding slightly as Mike just tried to laugh it off. Something about staying late and just deciding to stay since it was already morning anyway. “What if you hired someone else? We both know you aren’t made for late nights, Mike.” He chuckled.

Mike seemed to consider it before sighing, sipping at what had to be cold tea. “Something tells me you have someone in mind. A colleague from the Navy?”

“Not exactly.” John chuckled. God, he didn’t like lying to Mike. “A. . friend. Looking for more experience.”

Mike looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ll have to ask Forbes about it but just bring the chap in. If you trust him he can’t be that bad.”

It wasn’t a ‘yes’ but it was better than a flat out ‘no’. Excusing himself to get back to work John spent the day acting as if yesterday hadn’t happened.

The guards he’d seen yesterday were nowhere to be found, nor was Forbes apparently. Perfectly fine by him. John wasn’t positive he could withhold the sheer disgust he held for people who tried to have him killed.

Everything was so normal. List in hand John looked for everything ordered, trying not to look over his shoulder too much. If Forbes had little eyes everywhere let them tell that bastard he was fine. That his attempt to kill a cripple had failed.

Tension bubbled to the surface, mixing with the unease to form a confusing mix of excitement. John wasn’t stupid enough to wish killers trailing on his heels every night but it had been enough to get his blood pumping.

 

Hours of keeping on his feet almost had him wishing for not quite so much excitement in his life. There seemed to always be someone yelling for a doctor with only him needed. Maybe they actually did need to have someone else working here.

Despite the fact his feet were throbbing John took a different path than the one that led straight to Greg's door. Mike hadn’t come back to him for an answer but Sherlock needed to know what was happening now.

John barely had to spare it a second thought to find where Sherlock was staying. Once there he hesitated, a little voice warning him that this was a mistake. Helping Sherlock could ruin his life. Another voice butted in with ‘What life?’

Knocking sharply he twitched nervously until Mrs. Hudson opened the door. Something didn’t seem right, and was proven as Mrs. Hudson peeked around him.

“Did Sherlock not come with you?”

Images of Sherlock murdered in some back alley ran across Johns mind as he shook his head.

“Oh dear. I had thought he’d quit this foolish nonsense.” Mrs. Hudson sighed, wringing her hands lightly. “Mr. Hudson had a taste for that opium as well. Vile stuff if you ask me.”

John tensed, grip flexing on the canes handle. “Sherlock is at an opium den?” He said, racking his brain for where those dens were located.

“Last time he was brought home it was from a place called ‘The Smuggler’. Such a name!” 

Her voice wavered as she blinked faster.

Placing a hand on her arm he nodded, expression firm. Was he really about to go to an opium den to find his ex-lover? Bloody right he was.

 

The world consisted of nothing but smoke and a wonderfully numb feeling that let Sherlock's mind slow down. Running his hand slowly over the cushion beside him Sherlock chuckled as little embroidered details caught at his finger-tips.

People were talking; mumbling actually, around him but all Sherlock heard was the faint echoing voices bouncing around in his skull. As the voices grew clearer he took another deep hit from the pipe in his other hand, letting the burn travel through his lungs before breathing out. With the world spinning he laid back against the dark padding of cushions, eyes drifting closed.

How long had he been here? An hour? Most likely more. Even in this dulled state he could feel Soo Lin watching him from her hidden corner of the den. The young woman had loyal eyes everywhere but Sherlock knew she would keep a close eye on him.

‘The Smuggler’ was the best den in this part of the city. It was truly like stepping into some fantasy of the Orient. At least to these fools it was. With the outside façade of a regular building the inside was done in lush tones of red and gold, walls moved around to provide private spaces for the customers. Standard doors removed to be replaced with sliding paper ones. Beautifully foolish.

Sherlock took another breather when his thoughts started to darken. He wasn’t here to think, not about this or anything. So, when there was a commotion from the front door Sherlock paid it little mind. Most likely a person fighting against being kicked out.

Through the hallways leading to the particular den he was lounging in firm foot falls caught his attention. Slight limping, suggesting someone with a leg injury. Usage of a cane.

Sherlock rolled over as a figure pushed the screen aside. John would give up after a few minutes to search another room.

 

Where was that little shit? This was the third room he’d checked with no sign of Sherlock, and he didn’t even know what bloody name the twat was going by right now!

“Sir?”

Looking over John turned to face the woman, taking in her appearance as she came closer. Her skirt trailed on the wooden floor, hands hidden by the long sleeves that went past her finger-tips. The pale colors of her traditional garb stood out in the dark red and golds surrounding her, adding a flare of innocence to this hell hole.

“I’m not here to cause trouble.” He said firmly, now watching the large man by her side.

With a fluttery laugh she smiled, nodding. “I have a feeling I know who you search for.” She said softly before bowing, not a single hair moving from the neatly formed bun creation on her head. “I am Soo Lin. Welcome.”

In an effort to be polite he bowed his head, unsure if he was supposed to return the full bow she’d given him. “I’m just lo-“

“Looking for someone, yes. Many of my customers have someone looking for them but what you’re looking for is right over there.” Soo Lin said softly, pointing towards a figure huddled on cushions across the room.

John drew his gaze over the covered back, something inside him twitching in recognition. He’d wring the bastard's neck for this.

“My friend will show you to the back door once you’ve acquired what you’re looking for. Please consider visiting us again, John.”

The easy use of his name sent his pulse racing. “How exactly do you know my name?”

“Our mutual ‘friend’ has a restless mind. Restless minds do not remain silent even in sleep.”

Did she know Sherlock? Actually know who he was? What he was? John wasn’t about to be stupid enough to ask. With final thanks he went to the curled up body, nudging it gently with his foot.

At a disgruntled grunt John almost chuckled before remembering where they were.

“Come on then.” John sighed, bending over to try and pick up the unwilling body. The man Soo Lin had left behind came forward to help but John shook his head. A small part of him felt weird about someone else manhandling Sherlock like this. That same part felt somewhat proud to be the one to lift Sherlock up onto his feet.

As expected Holmes stumbled like a new born foal, almost going down before grabbing onto John's shoulders. Instead of shoving him away the grip only tightened, hazed over blood shot eyes glaring at him.

John was still angry. The idea of Sherlock killing his mind, or worse, with this mess was downright disgusting but he couldn’t bring himself to scold. Not yet. The important thing was getting Sherlock home. 

 

Mrs. Hudson was waiting, just as Sherlock expected. Her worried words and hurried movements sent his mind to spinning as John finally let him fall back into the comfortable sitting chair. The actual trip between the den and here was barely more than a blur. Sherlock hadn’t wanted to leave, had protested for a short while before John threatened to gag him.

Sherlock turned his face into the chair, sighing at the soft material rubbing his face. John was very obviously upset with him.

Only a few days and he was already disappointing John. And it was doubtful it could be fixed like last time.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, drink this.”

Something cool pressed against his lips, driving home the point of how damn thirsty he was. Sherlock gulped greedily at the water, reaching up with both hands to take the glass before it was taken away. In a fit of protest he reached out, only to be pushed back into the warm embrace of his chair.

“Too fast and it’ll just come right back up. Slow it down.” John's voice urged gently before the drink was offered again.

The wig had been removed, proven only by the fact Sherlock could feel sturdy fingers rake through his hair. In this over sensitized haze of after-affects he almost moaned at the sensation running from his skull to the very tip of his toes.

John rambled on about how dehydration was a symptom of opium usage. How it was important to keep drinking to prevent that.

“Obviously, John.” Sherlock finally murmured, leaning his head against the chair's back. Above him John chuckled, removing his hand. Cracking his eyes open he watched John walk back to a table holding a pitcher of more water. “John...”

His heart raced painfully as he just stared at John's back, uncaring how obvious he was being. No. He needed to care.

Something cool pressed against his forehead, making Sherlock realize how far he’d drifted into his own thoughts again. Since he hadn’t even noticed John return to his side.

“I’m sure you need to be heading off, John. I’ll watch him now.” Mrs. Hudson whispered nearby. The woman had never been very good at keeping her voice down.

 

John dabbed the damp flannel gently against Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock had seemed fine until he’d actually been forced to move around. How long had he been there smoking? He’d seen this reaction before in men that had smoked too much or even boys new to the act. Nothing serious but it couldn’t be comfortable.

“It’s fine, Mrs. Hudson.” John sighed, debating with himself about staying or going. Going was the wiser option really. It could be hours before Sherlock was coherent enough to discuss anything. He could simply come back tomorrow.

Sherlock gave a small noise of discomfort, arching his head into the flannel at his forehead.

“I’ll just be downstairs.” Mrs. Hudson said gently, patting his shoulder before letting herself out.

“For a genius you’re a right idiot.” John murmured to the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finish reading through all that? Thanks! You're fantastic!
> 
> Comments comments comments! Please and thank you. They help let me know if I'm making this enjoyable. Kudos are also welcome but if you feel the fic doesn't deserve it yet that's fine. :3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed by the wonderful audreyneedsacase.
> 
> I honestly hope ya'll are still enjoying the story so far. Gigantic thank you to my readers.

It had to be his third cup of tea and John nearly gagged when swallowing it. At his feet Olivia chewed on a bone, tail thumping happily whenever John reached down to give her ears a gentle pet. It was a little surprising to see that Mrs. Hudson had Olivia but a rather nice surprise at that. The dog had followed when Mrs. Hudson had brought up another tray of tea and snacks, and had refused to leave once she’d spotted John.

Thankfully Sherlock had already been moved to his bed so the extra noise wasn’t that much of a concern.

“John!”

Tea cup aside John darted to the cracked bedroom door, pushing it open only to let out a stream of mumbled curses to find Sherlock on the floor. “Stay back, girl.” John ordered firmly as Olivia whimpered from the doorway.

The body was almost completely limp, offering no aid as John picked him up. Which was fine. John was smaller but could lift things far heavier than Sherlock. Wrapping his arm tightly around the others waist he heaved Sherlock back to the bed. Out of habit he started checking the mans vitals, finger-tips lingering over the racing pulse in his throat.

His hair was still somewhat matted from the wig, only adding to the pitiful picture. Chuckling softly John tugged the blanket back over the tired from.

Sherlock growled weakly before tossing the sheet away, glaring up at him.

“Sherlock, stop that.” John said gently, trying it again only to have the sheet tossed away once more. Really? Childish antics from a dreaded pirate? All those men who had talked about how terrifying the Holmes brothers were and at least one of them was nothing more than a right brat. 

Turning away to leave it he frowned when clammy fingers wrapped around his wrist, drawing John's attention back to the bed. More importantly, the figure on the bed.

A fluttery sensation lit up as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, not trying to shake off the hand holding his wrist. Now Sherlock relaxed, visibly drifting off until his chest was rising and falling in sleep. With the grip loosened enough John carefully pulled his hand away but didn’t quite leave yet.

The room was cast in shadows from the light source of a few candles John had placed far away from the bed. Even without a proper source he could mentally trace the outline of Sherlock's features, a fact he wasn’t that proud of.

The man next to him let out a sound, flinching away from something John couldn’t see. Without thinking he stroked the tangled curls, sighing as Sherlock again relaxed. Keeping the gentle motion going he leaned against the headboard, closing his eyes with every intention to leave in just a few moments. Just after it was clear Sherlock would be fine.

 

Sherlock could see faint traces of sunlight through cracks between the thick curtains he kept drawn at all times. Faint traces of yesterday tugged at the corners of his mind. He’d found his way to ‘The Smuggler’ until John had come to find him. Wouldn’t have been found if it weren’t for that blasted Soo Lin.

He tried to remain focused on that but the fact was John Watson was laid out on his bed, one protective arm around Sherlock's waist. They were both fully dressed, and Sherlock didn’t detect any lingering soreness that would suggest they’d done anything. That didn’t answer why John was in his bed exactly but for the moment Sherlock found it hard to think about anything other than his dry mouth.

Starting to pull away he gasped when he was yanked back down, the arm tightening around his waist. “John.” Sherlock tried calmly at first before growing impatient in a matter of seconds. “John!”

The man beside him stirred roughly, eyes flying open in a panic as his breathing quickly became erratic.

Reaching out Sherlock placed a hand over the others chest, holding him down. All the discomfort forgotten for the time being as he held John to the bed, letting everything adjust before pulling back. The nightmares were the same, maybe even worse than when they’d shared a bed. 

“Sherlock. Just you.” John gasped and Sherlock just let him repeat that over and over.

When it didn’t seem like John was going to have another fit Sherlock eased up off the other side of the bed. His clothes were wrinkled and felt far less than clean. Reaching up to run fingers through his hair he found his hair to be in a similar state. 

“How’re you feeling?” Johns voice was heavy from sleep but fully aware.

Sherlock turned back towards the bed, taking in John as he got up. Embarrassed, very much so. Choosing to ignore where he found himself waking up.

“Sherlock...”

Had he said that out loud? Judging by Johns annoyed tone he had. An old habit when his mind was lagging. Closing his eyes tightly Sherlock turned his back to the other, hands clasped over his ears. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up! Dregs of opium lingered in his system but now wasn’t the time to lie about drifting in and out of a delicious haze of semi-awareness. 

“Have you talked to Stamford yet?”

“Ah, yes. I did.” John sounded confused at the change in topic but kept going despite that. “He just needs you to come in but in this condition I don-Sherlock!”

Sherlock tossed his shirt to the floor, planning out which role he would play for this. He hadn’t had much of a chance to watch Stamford but there were ways to gather information.

In the process of picturing each disguise he reached down to undo the ties to his trousers, not thinking of how very not alone he was until the discarded shirt connected with his head. Yanked from his thoughts Sherlock threw the shirt to the floor, glaring at John.

“It’s not as if you haven’t seen me naked before, John!”

Instant reaction. Flushed cheeks, wide eyes, not to mention a sudden lack of being able to keep eye contact. John didn’t like being reminded of that, hm? Standing straighter Sherlock almost didn’t hold back the onslaught of barbs right at the tip of his tongue. John was embarrassed about their time together? Of course he was. Two men lying together was sinful enough to fools like him but there was the added detail of Sherlock being a pirate.

It was no surprise why John was disgusted to be reminded of their time. “Oh honestly.” He hissed, going over to the wardrobe to start yanking clothes out. A more fitting use of his time than falling into the dregs of stupidity that were pointless emotions.

 

John let himself out quickly, remembering faintly that it was best to let Sherlock fume until he got over whatever was making him like that. Mrs. Hudson had had the foresight to leave out a basin with what felt like warm water. Even a fresh set of clothes?

Holding the shirt up to his chest he frowned, a little too big but better than something he’d slept in. Keeping a careful ear focused on Sherlock's movements John yanked his shirt off, washing his upper body off quickly before doing the lower half of his frame.

Bless that old woman.

Rolling the sleeves on the shirt up a bit he walked around to ease out the nervous energy, wondering what was taking Sherlock so long.

As if on cue Sherlock came out fully dressed, right down to another wig. Light auburn curls twirled around his forehead and ears, somehow softening the sharp angles and making Sherlock appear younger. His eyes were wide and curious, a half smile glued to his face.

“So who are you playing now?” John scoffed, smirking.

The smile didn’t so much as wilt as Sherlock answered. “Edward Snow.”

“Edward Snow?”

“A humble young man who came from nothing and is very much eager to learn from experienced professionals such as yourselves. We met during your last trip to the country side. No family, and no easily available friends.” Sherlock, Edward, rambled.

So it was that easy then? Creating a new person and playing them?

In the blink of an eye the soft edges went sharp, expression growing cool and slightly annoyed. “It bothers you.” Not a question, a vocalized observation.

“It doesn’t matter, Sherlock.” And it didn’t. This wasn’t about him or what he thought. Mike would eat up the sweet little school boy act. He loved it when others looked up to him and ‘Edward’ gave the look of someone who would. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” Last night had been hard. Sherlock shouldn’t even be up moving around.  
Sherlock simply glared in response, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Fine then.” John sighed, heading out first.

 

Sherlock. . no. No. _Edward_ charmed almost everyone he came into contact with. Even before they reached Mike's office Sherlock left three guards in stitches laughing. John was actually impressed, and somewhat proud. Glancing at the man from the corner of his eye he couldn’t help but smile as they waited for Mike.  
“Doctor Watson.”

The voice from the doorway sent a chill down his spine but John kept the annoyance from his face when he stood. “Mr. Forbes, this is Edward Snow. Mike said-“

“I’m well aware of what Doctor Stamford said. I thought I’d give our new recruit a once over.” Forbes reached out to take Sherlock's hand in a firm shake.

“Mr. Forbes, pleased to meet you.” ‘Edward’ said with a kind smile, acting every part the weaker of the two. John was still fuming silently at being cut off by the bloody prick. Childish but he didn’t like Forbes.

When Stamford joined them even Forbes appeared positive at the idea of ‘Edward’ working at the prison. John didn’t even need to sell the point home as Sherlock turned attention to Mike, shaking the man's hand quickly.

“You didn’t say he was such a charming boy, John.” Mike chuckled. ‘Boy’? Sherlock looked younger than them but not young enough to be a boy.

John licked his lower lip, chuckling softly. “Guess it must have slipped my mind.”

Sherlock clasped a hand on John's shoulder, squeezing gently. “You’re far too kind, doctor. John has told me so much about you. He’s plenty generous.”

Mike nodded, glancing at Forbes as if looking for a signal. At whatever he saw in the man's expression he smiled wider before looking back to Sherlock.

“Wonderful then! Do you have any questions, Edward?”

‘Edward’ looked thoughtful for a moment, flushing lightly. “I’m afraid not, sir. I’ve always been better suited for learning with hands on.”

“Of course. John, do you know your way around enough to give our new doctor a tour?”

“Please, Stamford, I would be honored to show Edward around.” Forbes stepped in.

John felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle at the tone, fingers twitching with the urge to grab the back of Sherlock's waistcoat. Sherlock's hand slipped from his shoulder, all attention on Forbes. 

“That’s too kind, sir. A man such as yourself must be quite busy.” Edward chuckled.

“Please, I insist, Doctor Snow.”

This didn’t feel right but what to do about it? The issue was taken out of his hands by Sherlock following Forbes from the room chatting away about how much of a wonderful opportunity this was.

Mike took a seat behind his desk, gesturing for John to sit. “Seems like a nice lad. Makes me wonder what he’s doing with you.” He joked well naturedly.

John forced a chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s Edward for you. Just full of surprises. Always full of surprises.” He said with a grin. “I really should get to work, Mike.” 

 

Sherlock had almost prepared for an assault. Following Forbes out of the room he ran through everything he’d done up to that point. What could have been a giveaway?

A hand at his lower back had Sherlock's mind scrambling to adjust said conclusion. Oh.

That could certainly make things easier in the long run, couldn’t it?

Turning a questioning gaze to Forbes Sherlock forced a blush at the man's predatory smile. Blatant homosexual desires but it was also about the power it would give him.

“You and Doctor Watson appear very close.” Forbes started, stroking his lower back as they walked down the empty hall together.

“John is a very dear friend.” ‘Edward’ said in a timid voice.

“Is that so? Besides Stamford I hadn’t heard that John many friends. There’s a Lestrade he’s close with but that’s about it.”

Sherlock hated the slowly moving hand at his back, only made worse by the mocking tone Forbes used towards John. John was too good to involve himself with the type of people Forbes would force his dreadfully dull company upon. With that running through his head Sherlock laughed softly.

“We can’t all have the world eating out of our hand, Mr. Forbes.”

The hand drifted lower, finger-tips brushing right above the beginning curve of his arse. Loud footsteps around the corner caused Forbes to yank away quickly, putting a modest amount of space between them. 

Even with the added distance Forbes watched his body hungrily. This would certainly be much easier than first thought.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

Greg felt a wave of unease as he stared at the empty spot where John normally was. Josephine had claimed he hadn’t come back last night. Biting lightly at his thumb nail Greg stood, sighing.

John was a grown man. He just had to trust the stubborn bastard hadn’t done anything stupid after the announcement. He’d been clear John was welcome to stay. And Greg just had to trust that John wasn’t with Holmes.

They never talked about their own relationships with each Holmes brother but Greg wasn’t so stupid as to think Sherlock and John hadn’t been something like him and Mycroft.  
Mycroft. Greg found the unease turn to sharp anger as he thought about the man. He could have gone the rest of his life never seeing that bloody pirate again.

On his way out none of the staff spoke to him, only gave worried glances before the door slammed behind him. He was supposed to spend the morning talking with Rebecca's father, and spending time with his fiancée. Not moping-No! He wasn’t moping about anything. Just frustrated. Not moping.

Greg found his mood not improving by much when he was let into the Oates home. Having to force a grin as Lady Oates came over to kiss his cheek.

“Gregory! Sweetheart! So glad you could come by.” She cooed. “My husband is waiting for you. I was about to head out with Rebecca. Well, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.” Lady Oates gave a small smile. 

Rebecca came down the grand stair case next, smile a little tight as Greg leaned down to kiss her cheek. “My father is looking forward to your visit.” She said a bit coolly.

Lady Oates reached over to take her daughter's arm, expression both fearful and cold. “Rebecca.”

This wasn’t the best mood to find his future wife in. Rebecca was well known for her little mood swings and sharp tongue. It just took a little getting used to. “Everything alright, love?” He asked softly.

“Well-“

“Perfectly fine, Gregory! Perfectly fine. Come along, darling.” Lady Oates tugged at Rebecca's arm, cutting off her sentence. Right then.

With the onslaught of strange events the last few days Greg only hoped things would settle soon. He wasn’t sure how much more he could handle. A not so serious part of him almost wished to be back on a ship in the middle of the ocean far away from this mess.

Greg didn’t wait for a member of staff to show him where the office was, he’d been here enough over the last few weeks. Lord Oates wasn’t waiting but the man was rarely on time. Money let a person get away with little things like that.

Starting to pace around the space a little nervously he knelt to grab up a crumpled newspaper from the floor. The words caught his attention before Greg could help it, and he kept reading as his fingers tightened in the paper.

The bloody announcement.

Splashed out in bold print that couldn’t be ignored. His name next to Rebecca's. A date that he hadn’t even known about displayed.

Greg barely recalled finding his way to one of the overstuffed chairs, his eyes glued to the page but no longer reading. Everything just needed to sink in. Not the longest of engagements but long enough to disregard any talk about why they were rushing it.

“Greg! There you are. Care for a drink?” Lord Oates booming voice caused Greg to jump slightly before he stood, clearing his throat.

“Nothing for me, sir.” The wedding date flashed across his mind suddenly. “Actually, make that a scotch.”

“That’s my boy!”

Standing by Greg watched the man pour the drinks, wondering if it was a little too early. As the glass was shoved into his hand he pushed that thought aside and took a sip, hissing softly at the burn. Eye-watering inducing burn but it felt bloody amazing. Just what he needed.

Things progressed in a blur after that. No fault of the alcohol but Greg felt something tugging at the edges of his mind, his chest so tight it almost hurt to breathe.  
By the time Greg left he felt drained, and overly thankful he only had to head home.

 

Athena was too polite, and smart, to say anything but she didn’t actually need to. But no matter her wonderful skills Mycroft could see through it. At least for the most part.

“My brother has decided to go through with his ludicrous plan and Dr. Watson is helping him.” Mycroft sighed, tapping lightly at the desk. John had even dragged Sherlock from Soo Lin's opium den. The protective little John Watson was following Sherlock like a lost puppy. Grasping at something he needed that only Sherlock could offer.

Mycroft didn’t taste the tea he swallowed, mind unbothered by such a little detail.

The office he sat in was a tad bit on the small side, and not well kept. It was overall clean but the organization system was hard to piece together. It fit Greg perfectly. 

“Sir?” The maid who had identified herself as Josephine stood at the door, forcing herself not to fidget. Poor woman was almost terrified. “Mr. Lestrade is here."

“Would you be so kind as to inform your employer he has guests?” Mycroft didn’t bother forcing a smile. She was scared of him, and Mycroft had been informed that his smiles were more terrifying than comforting.

With a nod she hurried off, leaving the door cracked.

“Forced silence doesn’t become you, Athena.” Mycroft murmured.

“It’s never seemed to bother you in the past. With all due respect, sir.” Athena tossed back calmly.

Chuckling softly Mycroft rolled his eyes, not pushing the point further. A part of him wanted an excuse to lash out at someone but Athena would never take the bait. Not that he actually wanted to snap at her. This was just a childish feeling that he hadn’t quite crushed yet.

In a mere matter of minutes Greg's stomping feet could be heard, and Mycroft listened to Athena chuckle from her position beside him.

 

Greg didn’t want to believe it when Josephine told him who was waiting for him in his own home. Under different names but she only needed to say it felt like the man was staring into her soul for Greg to know right away who it was.

“I want you out of here, Mycroft!”

What sense of entitlement did Holmes have to have to actually be in his home and also behind his desk, so comfortable and content?

Without even bothering to explain himself Mycroft held a finger over his lips, ‘tsking’. “Please, Captain, we wouldn’t want anyone to overhear.”

A death sentence if he ever heard one, having the infamous Mycroft Holmes in his house and not turning him in right away. Or at all.

“A little bored with the kidnapping routine?”

The newspaper he’d ignored that morning lay on the desk in front of Mycroft, opened and obviously read. For some reason that bothered him. It actually bothered Greg more than he was comfortable thinking about. 

Greg shut the door tightly, keeping an ear out for a second to make sure no one was trying to listen in.

There was only one reason Mycroft would be here. Walking over to the desk he grabbed the paper, crumping the page it was open on.

When their eyes met Mycroft's expression grew even more closed off. “Athena, if you would please.” He murmured, gesturing towards the door. She would keep watch while they talked, hm?

“I won’t spy on anyone, Mycroft. I was serious about that.” Greg snapped.

“Magnussen is an interesting person, is he not?”

‘Interesting’ wasn’t putting it the right way but Greg didn’t want to get into a debate about that. He just wanted Mycroft gone.

“Mycroft...”

“For a man about to be happily married you certainly don’t act like a happy bridegroom.” Mycroft continued.

“Mycroft!” Greg slammed his hands on the desk, leaning across it to glare at the other.

Without warning something cold pressed against his cheek, making Greg wince. The head of Mycroft's cane ran slowly down his cheek, brushing over his lips.

“What did I say, Gregory? Keep your voice down.”

Greg shoved the cane away before reaching out to grab the front of Mycroft's freshly pressed shirt. The blood pumping in his ears was so loud it blocked out the cane connecting with the floor, and even the scrape of his chair when Mycroft was half-way yanked to his feet.

The adrenaline kept him from noticing the tight hand in his hair but nothing could block out how close their faces suddenly were.

 

Mycroft relished the silver hair in his hand, the slight tremble in Gregory's body as his neck was pulled taut. He was furious but he didn’t fight.

Leaning in closer Mycroft felt the racing pulse against his lips, the heavy breathing filling his ears. Gregory had a fiancée. A perfectly acceptable woman of high birth that was going to marry him. They would lie together to make an heir.

“Mycroft!” Gregory's voice barely reached him before he bit down, intent on leaving a mark. Like he’d done in the past.

Even as he pulled away there was a tension now. Heavy and pulsing between them. His body was buzzing with lustful excitement, demanding more. So much more.

Mycroft had a rather large amount of pride when it came to ignoring his baser desires. Now they were being tested.

“You bloody twat.” Gregory was hurling insults as he reached out again, practically crawling across the desk to get at him.

Gregory straddled his lap, forcing their lips together. It was a burst of sensation. Mycroft was horribly embarrassed to find himself so aroused. His groin ached, only made worse by Gregory pressing so hard against him.

Digging his fingers into Gregory's back he smirked into the kiss when the man groaned at the pain, hips arching down. “Do you believe your noble born wife will do this for you, Gregory?”

 

Rebecca.

Greg ended up on the floor with how fast he pulled away, the lingering imprints of Mycroft's fingers still on his back. He was getting married.

“Get out of my house, Mycroft.” He said again, hating the rough catch of his voice. Standing slowly Greg left, ignoring Athena as he stepped out in the hall. How stupid could he be in one life time?

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

John grew steadily more agitated with each passing hour he didn’t see Sherlock. He didn’t see Forbes either and that only added to the mounting worry. What mess could Sherlock have gotten himself into? If Forbes knew who he was surely he would have already sent someone for him.

The words on the paper in front of him blurred together as he stood there thinking.

It was already past time for him to go but John lingered, finding other things to do that took him all over the prison. Keeping a steady eye out for Sherlock.

He got his wish in the form of catching Sherlock laughing, Forbes arm around his waist as they walked. The smile Forbes gave him was cruel, mocking. Sending chills up Johns spine. “Merely a celebratory drink. Your friend doesn’t appear to know how to hold his drink.”

John bit back everything threatening to spew forth. Instead he stepped forward to take Sherlock's weight onto himself. His arm wrapped protectively around the slender waist, keeping Sherlock tightly pressed against his side. “I got it from here.” Was the only thing John allowed himself to say. 

Helping Sherlock was a tad harder than last night. His movements were clumsier and harder to control. Even so John didn’t want to let go and just let the other struggle home alone. No. It was a bit more than that. Why had Forbes gotten Sher-Edward drunk? 

“We aren’t being followed.” Sherlock suddenly murmured, shoving the arm off his waist. The once drunken figure was walking upright, by all appearances completely sober.

John frowned, frozen to the spot until Sherlock turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh really, John.” He sighed, frowning.

“Oh no. You don’t get to look at me like that.” John said, catching up now. “I don’t see you all bloody day. Next thing I know you’re drunk, and now I find out you were. . what? Pretending? Jesus Christ, Sherlock.” His voice was barely above a whisper but the tone was clear.

“We aren’t being followed but I don’t think I need to tell you how dangerous it is to use my real name in public, John.” Sherlock hissed back.

Oh right, he was the bad guy now! John shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood. Only when they were closer to Sherlock's home did John try speaking again.

“What did Forbes show you, Edward?” John asked, hating the name on his tongue.

 

Sherlock mentally curled at the casual usage of his fake name but John would be using plenty of it in the coming days. “Mr. Forbes was a very polite host who showed me everything I would need to see.” ‘Edward’ chuckled.

Wasn’t that certainly the truth. Forbes had spent the morning showing what he believed to be a sweet natured new doctor around the prison, while simultaneously attempting to set a very defined ‘alpha’ dynamic. Clearly something impossible to do with John. From first glance John was clearly not the type of submit.

“I’m quite sure Forbes will give me everything I need. You shouldn’t concern yourself with it further.” Sherlock went on to explain, feeling rather impressed with the progress. It was already assumed Forbes would push things further than simple flirting but Sherlock had certainly done worse to get what he needed.

John gave a snort, drawing out another smirk from Sherlock. As if he actually expected John to walk away from something like this.

 

Olivia was curled up happily at John's feet while they waited for Sherlock to clean up. Namely remove the wig, make-up, and whatever else used to change his appearance. Mrs. Hudson had provided enough tea and treats for a small army but John was grateful.

Munching away at the little sandwich John tried to wrap his head around all the events of the last few days. Events that led him to sitting in Sherlock's parlor sipping tea, petting Olivia, and feeling utterly content. Despite the murders, of course, and Forbes. 

Sighing softly he leaned over to rub Olivia's ears, smiling slightly at her tail beating happily against the floor. Her head perked up suddenly before her body was up, going over to the open bedroom door and nudging Sherlock's knee.

“Mrs. Hudson didn’t want to leave the thing behind.” Sherlock huffed.

John watched the little exchange, smirking behind his hand. Sherlock kneeling down to give ample attention to Olivia suggested Mrs. Hudson wasn’t the only one who hadn’t wanted to leave the dog behind.

“You need to eat something, Sherlock.” John said, frowning when he went ignored. He kept glaring until Sherlock glared right back, getting up to stomp over to the tray of sandwiches. Let Sherlock pout all he wanted. John was just glad the stubborn twit was actually eating something. “How’re you feeling?”

Sherlock shrugged, using the food as an excuse not to answer.

“Oi.”

“Do you want me to answer or eat, John? Even you should realize I can’t talk with food in my mouth.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured out a way.” John tossed back, smirking. 

 

Sherlock refrained from eating when possible but once started it was a little harder to stop. Making him realize how long it had been since he’d had something decent.  
His stomach gave a small growl when he did stop. Any more and Sherlock knew he’d just end up tired and stupid.

“Sherlock.” John's tone was warning when he put back the half-eaten sandwich but Sherlock didn’t address it.

“Forbes will tell me what I need to know. Keep a distance between us and it’ll be over soon.” Sherlock said confidently.

“You seem pretty sure Forbes will just give you his secrets. I know you’re a cocky bastard but even you can’t think he’ll just roll over.”

Something in the back of his mind suggested this next bit of information might be a bit too much. “Forbes sees Edward, me, as someone who submits easily. He’ll grow drunk on the power I’ll give him, all the while him thinking he’s the one taking it.” Sherlock couldn’t contain his excitement at that. He was up and pacing before he could even think about it. “It’ll be one thing. One tiny little piece of information he sees as nothing more than a bragging point. Assuming Edward won’t understand.”

“You’re making it sound like Forbes wants to. . no. No.” John flushed darkly at Sherlock's look.

John was starting to understand. Sherlock was drawn to a halt as he watched the emotions fly across the others face. It was only a matter of seconds but it felt like ages.  
John didn’t like that.

Sherlock saw the disbelief turn to confusion, then to anger, back to confusion before his expression settled on blank.

What was that?

“Don’t, Sherlock.” Johns voice was rough but cold. The shorter figure stood, refusing to make eye contact.

What was he supposed to say in a situation like this? Sherlock was frozen to the spot wracking his brain, unable to protest as John left with a slam of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	5. A bit not good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, beta-ed by the wonderful audreyneedsacase.
> 
> So sorry chapter updates are taking so long. Just been so busy. Soon as things settle with my job I'll be able to write more, so please don't give up on this fic yet.
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The bottle of gin was much lighter by the time Greg joined John. He hadn’t even known Greg was in the house by the time he got back. The only thing on his mind finding whatever bottle was easiest to spot. It just happened to be gin.

When Greg sat across from him John just pushed the bottle over, nodding when Greg gave a grunt of thanks.

“Josephine said there was someone here earlier.” John said casually, taking the bottle when it was pushed back across the table.

Greg shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just a mistake. Someone who wasn’t supposed to be here. Just a bloody mistake.”

“Already said the last part, mate.” John chuckled. The chuckle turned into only a faint giggle when Greg raised an eyebrow at him.

Greg reached to grab the bottle, chugging down the remaining bit in the bottle before standing. John wasn’t sure where the new bottle came from but soon Greg rejoined him, open bottle in hand.

Outside a fine rain had kicked up, John had the sudden urge to stand out on deck and watch the storm brew. But they weren’t on a ship. Groaning softly he rubbed his face, laughing when Greg asked him something about where he’d been.

“Nowhere. I was nowhere.” John said, grinning towards Greg and gesturing towards the new bottle of gin. Greg shook his head, hoarding the drink. “Oi.”

John felt dizzy, part of him just wanting to find his own bed for the night. Even with that distraction he could tell something was wrong with Greg. Just how to be subtle about it?  
“Do you miss him?”

In the heartbeat of silence John realized he’d actually asked that out loud. Greg had clearly heard, judging by the slowly spreading flush. Of course, that could have been the gin he was chugging down.

“Do you?” Greg returned, handing over the drink.

With a thoughtful look on his flushed face John playfully toasted Greg with the bottle. “Good point.” He chuckled, feeling his chest tighten.

Did he miss Sherlock? The current reason for John sitting here drinking his limit in gin. Bloody Sherlock Holmes.

Why was it such a surprise that Sherlock would consider shagging Forbes to get information? Hadn’t Sherlock been the one to try and convince him to seduce Patli? The fact Forbes was attracted to men was the last thing on his mind, it hadn’t even occurred to John to think about that. He was focused only on Forbes touching Sherlock. ‘Edward’ actually but it wasn’t really Edward! 

Pinching the bridge of his nose John gave a small chuckle. Maybe he’d had enough. The effort of even forcing out the words to say so were proving to be a bit too much. “I. . um. . drinking. .”

“Think you’ve reached the limit?” Greg asked with a grin.

Both laughed as John just sighed loudly and nodded. “Night, Greg. Don’t go off doing anything stupid.”

“Now, John, do I look the sort to do something stupid after a few drinks?” He asked.

John gave his friend's shoulder a firm squeeze, index finger of the other hand in his face. “Bad Greg, no.” After another shared laugh John started stumbling his way to a very empty bedroom. With a very empty bed. He wasn’t a man who particularly enjoyed brothels, but right now he would have seriously considered one if just walking down the hallway wasn’t so much work. 

 

Falling back John giggled when he bounced on the bed. It was a strange sensation to feel everything but be so numb. He hadn’t been this drunk since his early days on a ship. When trying to prove manhood with pint after pint.

_”John?”_

_With glazed over eyes John looked towards the window, the rain soaked figure making him laugh. “You look like a drowned cat.” John chuckled, licking his lips. Was this a dream? Had to be a dream. Sherlock was walking towards the bed dripping wet. If this wasn’t a dream why would Sherlock be here now?_

_If this was a dream John was thankful for it. Sitting up he reached out, grabbing a wet sleeve. Cold but he didn’t really feel it. Had to mean this was a dream._

_“You’re a bloody bastard, Sherlock Holmes. Such a bloody bastard.” John sighed, leaning over to press his forehead against the damp stomach._

_Fingers pressed into his shoulders but John just felt his body melt into them. What was the point of his mind doing this to him?_

_“John?”_

_“Shut up. Just shut up.” John said firmly, pulling the other down._

_Sherlock didn’t say anything, only cementing how much of a dream this was._

_In the blink of an eye John felt his body be pushed back into the bed, lips at his throat. “Sherlock.”_

_“I have you, John. Trust me.” Sherlock whispered into his ear._

_In a dull haze things happened so fast. By the time John could focus again his trousers were undone, pushed open and a warm mouth was wrapped around his-“Oh God, Sherlock!”_

_Everything was so vivid. John could feel the soft tongue swirling around the head of his length, a cool hand teasing his hot flesh. A small part of him wished this dream was back on the island._

_John bit at his lower lip, heat coiling in the pit of his stomach. Almost._

_So bloody close._

_With a shout John arched his hips, one hand holding Sherlock's head in place. A dream Sherlock wouldn’t mind, right?_

_In a limp mess of tingling sensation he laid there panting, grinning slightly to himself._

_“The best thing to happen to me was a bloody pirate.” John chuckled, eyes drifting closed._

 

Sherlock never questioned what he did. Never had a real reason to. As he sat back to wipe at the corner of his mouth there were a few questions. All of them answered easily with him being a fool. The musky taste of John lingered on his tongue, filled his nose until it was all he could focus on.

Why had he even come here?

In a hurried state Sherlock re-did the ties of John's trousers before getting up, not even bothering to check for anyone as he went out the same way he’d come in.

The rain wasn’t much of a bother when he was already dripping wet. Sherlock felt chills that had nothing to do with the rain creep along his spine. The faint whine of horses making him debate his chances if he just darted off the main street. 

One glance over his shoulder and he seriously considered doing something drastic. The carriage came to a halt beside him, the door opening making him step back.

“Sherlock.”

The tone was cool and utterly familiar. “Mycroft.” He sighed, pulling himself into the carriage. He would never admit it but getting out the rain felt like an improvement.

“I hear you’ve been getting into trouble, Sherlock.”

Sherlock could only laugh. Drawing a rather irate glare from his older brother. “Bad day, brother dear? A. . fight. Interesting. With Lestrade I assume.” 

Mycroft was much better at covering his physical reactions to verbal probing but Sherlock could just barely see the pain in his eyes. The fact it was dark and their only light source was a candle burning in the corner of the carriage didn’t help.

“How long are you going to insist on playing this game?” Mycroft simply asked.

“It’s not as if I asked you to follow me here, Mycroft!”

Far from that in all honesty.

“Be that as it may that doesn’t answer the question.” Mycroft's look made Sherlock feel again like a child. As if the older Holmes were looking down his damn nose at him! “I would point out that bringing an end to Moriarty isn’t here but you already know that.”

Huffing softly he leaned back in the cushioned seat, finding childish delight in how wet he’d knew it would be from his clothes. “You know the last clue I found in my travels brought me here.”

“We both know what brought you here, Sherlock.”

“As if I were the only reason you’re here. Lestrade is getting married. A fact I’m sure you already know.” Sherlock said, stealing a peek at his brother. “One you’re not happy about. Tell me, Mycroft, have you given into temptation and gone to see him yet? Try to judge if he’s already been with her?”

“Magnussen wanted to speak with him.”

The mocking smile slowly melted off Sherlock's face. “Magnussen?”

“Has being around so many simpletons really dulled you so much, brother? Moriarty wanted you here, Sherlock, he wanted to distract you. And you fell right into it because you had to see-“

“There is still a murderer out there. With the strings being pulled by Moriarty's lapdogs.”

“Fine then. Since you’re so hell-bent on playing the Good Samaritan you’re more than welcome to stay, find the killer, and so on and so forth.” Mycroft already sounded bored. “Of course, let’s remember where you are.”

Sherlock didn’t need him to elaborate. London wasn’t home. Last time he’d been forced to remain here for an extended period of time he’d nearly ended up dead. Boredom made him reckless and there had been plenty of boredom.

“John has secured me a position in the prison. It should only take a week.”

“’Should’? Oh my, Sherlock, is that doubt?”

“I’m surprised Lestrade never took a knife to your throat.” Sherlock growled.

“Poor man was usually too tired by the end of it.” Mycroft chuckled before it turned into a laugh at Sherlock's barely contained look of disgust.

 

Was that knocking from the door or inside his skull? John debated the question as he rolled over to bury his face into a pillow. God in Heaven what was this hell? A hang-over yes but it had to be more than that. His stomach rolled threateningly every time he so much as shifted position.

A soft tapping joined in with the knocking. So, the tapping was at the door and the knocking was inside his skull. Wonderful.

“Come in.” John called out but the pillow muffled his words. Forced to lift his head he swallowed, cursing his stupidity before he was able to mutter something. Must have been positive since Josephine poked her head inside.

Whatever she said was lost in the aroma of fresh tea and breakfast. He listened to her try to walk softly, and to be fair she might as well have been tip-toeing but at the moment John was hyperaware of everything.

The soft clatter of the tray being put down rang in his ears before he caught her saying something about his window being open. “You’ll catch your death of cold, sir.” Josephine said, rushing over to pull the window shut. “Oh dear, the rain got in. Not to worry. Nothing that can’t be cleaned right up.” She said reassuringly.

The window had been open? Had he really stumbled in here drunk last night only to open a damn window before passing out? Maybe that’s why he’d dreamed of Sherlock.

God, that dream. John felt months of repressed urges play at the edge of his senses but the uncomfortable feeling from drinking too much was still the main thing.

Forcing himself to sit up John rubbed at his face, swallowing painfully. “Thank you, Josephine.” He forced out but his attention was on the now closed window. Even when a cup of some strange purple liquid was shoved into his hand he barely heard Josephine explain it was an old family remedy for a morning after.

The taste was sweet and settled his stomach. That could draw his mind from where it was going in regards to the window and Sherlock.

Josephine smiled at the content look on his face, giggling softly. John knew that kind of giggle. It brought out a reflexive grin that had her blushing before she turned her back, smiling.

It must have been late morning by now. Had Sherlock gone to the prison by himself? Bloody idiot if he had. It would have been the more reckless option, which meant he had picked it. John swallowed down the rest of the purple liquid, forcing his body out of bed.

What Josephine gave him had helped but it wasn’t perfect. Every few steps John felt his stomach threaten to rebel, forcing him to clear his throat and breathe heavily through his nose. Couldn’t just leave Sherlock alone, could he?

 

Sherlock could fake a smile that would cast out the doubt of any heart but the fake smile was starting to wear thin. Edward was a warm hearted, smiling little twit who offered comfort to anyone he treated. That meant a big smile the entire time he was working.

Even when he found nothing that helped. There was nothing!

The only ‘something’ was Forbes. A disgusting leech of a man who found any reason at all to touch him. Sherlock hated him, even more than Anderson.

“Snow, would you come here a moment?”

Edward was only too happy to set this work aside and follow Forbes. Edward wouldn’t question where they were going, so eager to please. When they went deeper into a more private part of the prison Sherlock spared a thought for John, unable to push away the expression when he’d understood what would happen.

A disgustingly familiar hand went to his lower back, Forbes guiding him into a room where the only light source appeared to be a lantern.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

Greg remembered he was meeting with Rebecca's father only after drinking half a bottle of gin by himself. Regretfully he took the responsible route and went to bed in a much better state than he assumed John was in. Things were a bit hazy but he could still think, painfully so.

Lying in bed, alone, he could only focus on what had happened that afternoon in his study. Without real thought his own hand tangled in his hair, tugging gently but it wasn’t the same. It sent a small jolt through parts of him but it wasn’t the same. Couldn’t be the same. Closing his eyes Greg groaned weakly, cursing every stupid thing he’d ever done.

Maybe it was an act of mercy from a pity filled God but when Greg got up to get ready he didn’t feel quite as poorly as he should have. There was a small ache in the back of his skull but it was easy to ignore. Years of practice made it easy anyway.

Humming a small tune he’d learned in some port town Greg spent a hefty amount of time washing up before dressing. He tried to convince himself it had nothing to do with having cold feet, and even if it was why was that a bad thing? Plenty of men got cold feet when it came to marriage. It wasn’t something someone could simply ignore.

Breathing calmly Greg leaned over the small table pressed against the hall, looking down into the clear water. He looked old. Silver stubble dusted at his jaw line, matching the strands on his head. He knew of a man who had grown vain enough to use dyes for his hair, covering up every little gray strand so no one knew wiser.

Greg brushed a hand over his hair before looking up into the mirror hanging in front of him. Go back to dark hair like in his youth?

Okay. Maybe he was trying to distract himself.

He had gotten half-way through a close shave when a soft knock at the door sounded.

“Yes?” He called, pulling the sharp razor slowly over his other cheek.

“Sir? There’s a carriage waiting for you.” Josephine said loud enough to be heard through the door.

Carriage? Why would they send a carriage?

“Mr. Magnussen asks that-“

Greg didn’t need to hear anything else. Since going out with only a half-shaved face wasn’t an option he hurried to finish up, wiping his face clean of the white shaving cream before hurrying out.

Magnussen was actually waiting for him. Why was Magnussen actually waiting for him? Greg gave an apologetic grin as he was let inside the carriage, holding his hand out for a customary shake.

“I’m sorry about the wait, sir.”

Instead of replying the other simply looked at him. Greg tried looking out the window to be polite in the dragged out silence but he could feel Magnussen watching him. The little half-smirk made the flesh on his back crawl. What game was this man playing?

“I met Mycroft Holmes once. A few years ago actually. I wonder. .”

Greg suddenly didn’t feel much like being polite anymore. “Sir, as my reports have said I didn’t meet Holmes beyond being questioned as to my rank and what might they accept in ransom.” It was a lie but not a complete lie.

The shark sitting across from him circled again, sniffing for blood no doubt but what did he have that Magnussen could want?

The carriage came to a halt but Greg didn’t get out right away. 

“I never took you for a stupid man, Lestrade.” Magnussen actually grinned now before laughing softly, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at the corners of his eyes. “My sense of humor running away from me again.”

Greg wasn’t sure what to say to something like that. “Why am I here right now? Sir.” Greg had to force out the token of respect. 

That smile grew wider and Greg knew the shark had caught scent of something in the water but he wasn’t sure what.

“Good day, Captain.”

Taking it as the dismissal it was Greg got out, refusing to look back as he hurried into the house.

 

By mid-day Greg was feeling the effects of last night’s drinking. That’s what he considered it anyway as he walked through the garden for the third time alone. Magnussen was still front and center in his mind but so was the wedding. Lord and Lady Oates weren’t planning a very lavish affair. They were happy to have their daughter married off but it went unsaid they didn’t want it brought about how long it had taken to get there. And they were less than thrilled with the selection they were able to get for a husband.

Lord and Lady Oates played it well but Greg knew that his ‘new money’ wealth didn’t have the same appeal as an old standing family would. Not to mention the fact, when pressed, Greg made it clear John wasn’t going to be kicked out even after the wedding. He would always have a place in the Lestrade home.

Leaning over to get a closer look at one of the budding flowers he had a small thought about some of the island flowers. Beautiful colors that would have stood out in such a standard English flower garden . Most likely wouldn’t live through a chilled winter.

His current home didn’t have the lavish space for a garden but sooner or later he’d have to buy a larger living space. Rebecca would want a larger home, more staff; it was how she’d been raised. Greg stood straight as he looked around, trying to picture this as his own.

 

Mycroft had half a mind to drag Sherlock back home, kicking and screaming be damned. He had had a sleepless night broken only by dreams that had him waking up in an embarrassing state of arousal. The images of a certain silver haired captain being the sole source.

A small whimper from the next room over drew his attention, eyes narrowing at the cracked door where the sound had leaked through. There was nothing that simpering fool could tell them. Just some man who had been drunk and bragging about accomplishments that weren’t his.

The man who had brought him in should have known better but Mycroft didn’t have it in him to replace the poor bastard. “Dispose of him. There is nothing left he can tell us.” Mycroft uttered the order without a second thought as he stood, leaving the small room as a scream sounded.

There was a painful cry that did nothing to break his stride. The raw smell of blood had never been one of his enjoyments but it did keep some of the men in check when it was rumored he sat in on such events. Never to actually participate, more of a supervisory role. Not that he was really watching but Mycroft let the gossip control what he couldn’t manage through threats alone. Let his men think him as ruthless as they wanted. 

It was preferable to what they could say. That he was weak. Almost unable to resist one man and actually unsure of what to do about it.

Well, there was one bonus to having followed Sherlock here. When he sat down to lunch there was a slice of Mrs. Hudson's cake waiting. 

Savoring the first bite Mycroft allowed his mind to drift off. When he returned home, and that would be soon, Mrs. Hudson surely had to return with him. Sadly he didn’t see it going quite like that. Sherlock was the favorite, a fact he wasn’t bitter about. He was just the ‘baby’. Mrs. Hudson couldn’t help but want to protect the youngest sibling.

Not that he had to return alone.

Mycroft laughed at himself but it wasn’t amused. Yes. Kidnapping Gregory Lestrade, again, and forcing him back to the island would never run smoothly. Very possible but not a smart move.

And he was the smart one, was he not?

 

A month after the wedding announcement came out Greg felt as if everything was going too fast. Rebecca grew colder with almost every meeting and had only perked up when telling him her family was spending a week in the country. Greg could only kiss her hand and wish them a safe trip. Maybe that time from planning would increase both their spirits.

It also gave him time to catch up with John. He lived with the bloody man but he couldn’t remember the last time they’d even properly spoken.

Greg tapped out a mindless tune on his desk, waiting for John. He tried not to think about the last time he’d actually been in this office. When Mycroft had been here, in this chair waiting for him.

Squirming in the hard backed chair he cleared his throat, hearing the other's voice ‘mock’ him for being aroused. A proud figure standing over him, a warm hand trailing over his throat before teasing at the buttons on his-

“Greg?”

Greg nearly jumped out of his skin as John grinned, gesturing towards the hallway behind him. “Should I come back later?”

Throwing a balled up piece of paper at the other Greg smirked. “Like a bloody cat. Need a damn bell around your neck.”

“And you’re going to be the one to put it on?” John joked, shutting the door and taking a seat before anything else could be thrown at him. “Things alright then?”

Greg almost wanted to blurt out the truth. That he had cold feet and just wanted out. Out of this wedding, out of everything. He was in the middle of rambling about how great everything was when the serious look on John's face cut him off. “Just nervous, mate.”

John's expression was thoughtful as he crossed his arms, leaning back in the chair. “From what I hear that’s pretty normal. Wouldn’t know myself really.” They both chuckled at the last part.

“Sir? Mr. Lestrade?” Josephine knocked softly before entering, smiling kindly at John as she went to place a sealed envelope in Greg's hand. He watched the way Josephine tried not to giggle when John smiled back. Waiting until she was gone he raised an eyebrow at his best mate, asking without words if there was something he should know about.

A quick shake of the head from John and Greg pushed it from his mind. Opening the envelope he pulled out the short note, already going cold at the name ‘Charles Augustus Magnussen ‘ written so perfectly at the bottom.

Greg had been more than happy with not seeing Magnussen. He’d even had the optimistic thought that the man had grown bored of whatever game he was playing. Appeared that wasn’t the case.

“Oi, Greg.” John was frowning when he looked up. 

“Nothing important. Well, it’s important but not. . important.” Greg rambled, tripping over words as he tried to unscramble his thoughts.

John gave an understanding nod, glancing towards the window to watch dusk settle over the city.

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

They were both keeping secrets from each other. John knew it, and Greg most likely knew it too but it didn’t seem right to bring it up now. Greg was nervous about the wedding, about the marriage, about everything. He didn’t say it but John was worried about his friend.

When the note was placed down he caught the name ‘Magnussen’ before it was covered. Strange man from what he’d heard but Sherlock had mumbled about him before. According to Holmes Magnussen wasn’t so much ‘strange’ as just dangerous. Why would the man need to see Greg?

“I believe Rebecca's mother has the intention of trying to sort you with one of Rebecca's cousins during the wedding.” Greg said suddenly, smirking. “Never met the girl myself.” He admitted.

John chuckled good naturedly, holding his hands up. “Perfectly content on this end.” He didn’t ask what poor woman deserved to be stuck with a husband like him. He didn’t actually have to use the cane he carried anymore but he didn’t have money or even his own home yet. 

“I can try to talk her out of it but Lady Oates is rather determined.” Greg warned jokingly.

“I’ll take that as my cue. Night, Lestrade.”

 

John had pushed the entire idea of finding a wife out of his head by the next morning. Made only harder by the rock hard ache between his thighs that greeted him upon waking up. His body was lonely. A hand could only do so much.

Still, he didn’t want a wife. Sitting there in bed rubbing sleep from his eyes John had the faint afterthought it had been a long time in itself that a woman had even stirred his blood. All of his dreams based on what had happened last time he’d drank himself to sleep.

Sherlock crawling into his bed dripping wet, begging for him. No. No. No. No. John ignored the images as he got up, forcing his body through the motions of getting cleaned up and dressed.

 

The wig tugged painfully at his scalp, which did not help the mood Sherlock found himself in that morning. Things were progressing along as he’d expected. It was just John. Even more annoying than Mycroft being around so often was the fact John was ignoring him.

A sharp bite to his throat drew a pained gasp from Edward as Sherlock forced his mind back into the appropriate setting.

“You’re awfully quiet this morning, Snow.” Forbes hot breath teased over the bite mark.

“Merely thinking, sir. I heard there was a body found the other night.”

Forbes brushed it off as rumors but Sherlock knew better. The woman had been found by Sally, and Sherlock could tell the killer was the one he was looking for. Something hadn’t been right about it though.

“Ah!” He hissed, shoving Forbes away quickly. “Sir, we don’t have time for this.” Edward said harshly, pushing the thick frames further up his nose.

Forbes always liked a little fight but Sherlock could honestly say he was too busy thinking for something so. . so base! Moriarty was just playing another game, tugging strings to bring this entire thing together but why? To what end?

“Edward.” Forbes placed a hand on the back of his neck, giving that smile that said he’d already won. Sherlock felt something warm and almost nice spread through him as he pictured exposing this man's many secrets, none of which were even about the power play he used to seduce gullible young men in the prison. Guards and prisoners alike.

Edward blushed lightly as he went to his knees, unable to make eye contact at the embarrassment he felt.

“Too busy thinking about Doctor Watson?” Forbes chuckled, playing with the short hairs at the back of the wig. This was why this damn thing was so pinned into his hair now. Edward, for all Forbes knew, had a sensitive scalp so he already had his head tilted back, biting the inside of his cheek as he tried to ask what Forbes meant.

Sherlock, on the other hand, could see the greasy wheels turning in the bastard's head. Everything clicked painfully slow as he started to shove away, panic seizing him. Now Sherlock wasn’t sure if it was actually Edward panicking or himself.

John wasn’t supposed to see this! 

Over the pounding of his heart he could hear footsteps, the faint shuffling limp mixed with the soft tap of a cane already told him who it was. The wig threatened to topple off as Sherlock halted his struggles, breathing heavily. Above him Forbes chuckled softly.

John knocked on the door before entering, eyes growing wide now.

“Mike said you needed to see me, sir.” John said, forcing his eyes from the kneeling form to Forbes. 

_John. ._

“For matters that can wait until later, John.” Forbes had planned this. Sherlock could barely hear over the berating marathon parading through his own head. How hadn’t he seen something like this happening? Of course a man like Forbes would enjoy it. Even if he suspected nothing more than friendship between him and John it would make Forbes feel powerful to think he destroyed it.

When John dared to look downward Forbes tightened his grip.

“He doesn’t look comfortable.” John commented calmly.

Sherlock could feel the uncomfortable tremor run through Forbes. He hadn’t been expecting this. “You may go now, Watson.”

John gave a sharp nod at the order, turning around to leave but lingering with his hand on the doorknob. Sherlock saw everything unfolding a split second before it happened. In what felt like a slowed down moment John turned back towards them, walking briskly with his face set and determined.

Forbes didn’t even see the fist flying until it already connected with his face. Sherlock felt his eyes water as the wig was accidentally yanked from his head by a flailing Forbes that went down, unconscious from that one blow alone.

John rubbed at his punching hand, standing almost proudly above Forbes. “Right then.” John said, clearing his throat. “Oh. .”


	6. Trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to audreyneedsacase. As always. She keeps putting up with me.
> 
> And huge thanks to everyone still reading this. I'm so sorry this took so long. Time just kinda slipped away from me. Work has kinda been kicking my ass. I'll try to keep up better in the future. :3 Thank you.

Mistakes. They happened. It was completely normal to make mistakes. To have a blunder in regards to common sense. Standing there over Forbes’ body John tried to tell himself that. With the dull ache in his fist that no doubt matched the bruise forming on the unconscious man's face, John tried to remember that mistakes happened.

Nearby Sherlock struggled to get the wig fixed, not saying a word. Maybe this was a bit more serious than he’d first thought.

John flexed his hand, checking for damage there first before kneeling down next to Forbes. “Still alive.” He murmured.

“A shame.” Sherlock commented, grabbing the thick frames from where they’d fallen to the floor.

It seemed a little in poor taste to laugh but John did allow a small chuckle. Didn’t appear that Forbes was dying, just knocked out. Kind of what he’d meant to do. Which reminded him why he was kneeling besides Forbes' unconscious body.

Sherlock must have sensed the change, judging by his small throat clear and gentle “John..”

“No, Sherlock. Just... kind of busy.” John said firmly, heart jumping as Forbes gave a low groan.

Beady little eyes cracked open before flying wide, glaring up at John accusingly. “Watson.”

“Sir! Are you okay? Thank goodness Doctor Watson was here when you fell.” Edward pushed forward, tousled hair sticking out in wild directions.

“Fell?!” Forbes sat up, wincing as he placed a hand over the bruise on his jaw.

“Yes, sir, you tripped. You must have hit your face on the floor. Do you need anything, sir?” Edward sounded every bit the worried little suck-up. John was somewhat impressed or would have been if he weren’t silently steaming from what he’d walked in on.

He’d known. Heaven forbid Sherlock not go through with a plan just because it made him uncomfortable. Actually... seeing it. Seeing Sherlock like... that.

“Do you need anything, Forbes? Mike said you needed to see me. On my way down here I heard Edward here call out for help because you’d tripped.” John broke into the conversation, forcing his most professional smile.

Forbes was starting to doubt whatever was on his mind now. Even John could see that Forbes was actually starting to think he’d fallen, tripped actually. With that in mind John carefully kept his bruised hand from sight as he stood.

“Seems like Edward has everything under control. We’ll just talk later, aye?”

Forbes poked carefully at his sore jaw, barely paying attention with how deep in thought he was. Not waiting around John left, sighing in relief. He didn’t think there was much Forbes could do to him, the risk of details leaking would be too much but there were other things Forbes could do.

After all, hadn’t the bastard already tried to have him killed? That gave him a little pause but hopefully Edward, Sherlock, could convince Forbes of their story. No reason why it wouldn’t work. Something else crossed his mind after a few steps. What if Forbes didn’t believe the story and tried to hurt Sherlock?

John went back to the door, giving a hard knock. A few moments later Edward was poking his head out, frowning down at him. “Doctor Watson, what is it now?”

“I need to speak with you, Snow.”

The confusion barely contained the sheer annoyance on ‘Edwards’ face as he stepped out, pulling the door shut after him.

“I don’t want you in there with him alone.”

Sherlock was the one who gave him the amused look, questioning that line of logic without so much as utterly a word. Holding a hand up to silence any protest John shook his head. “I do NOT want you in there with him alone.”

 

This commanding tone wasn’t forced. John Watson was a very commanding man when he wanted to be. It was why Forbes had never tried to impose such acts upon him. John was too much ‘alpha’ to be corralled into such an arrangement. Even Sherlock found something inside him want to bend to the order.

Biting the inside of his cheek his spine stiffened, eyes narrowing. “Oh honestly, John, that is hardly necessary.”

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock placed a hand over the other's mouth, glaring down at him. In a rush of motion his wrist was gripped tightly, his body slammed not too gently into the wall by the smaller John Watson.

“Fine then, _Edward_. You will not be in there alone with him. I don’t trust him, and I don’t care what you think you know.”

His other hand hung useless, the only thing keeping him pinned was John holding his wrist and John's body just being so close. The tension practically vibrated between them, and Sherlock could see the realization cross the other's face. He could also see when John caught the faint scent of Forbes on him.

“John.” Sherlock tried to keep his voice low as the shorter but more muscular frame pressed in closer, surrounding him with everything that was John. Something familiar made its way up his hip, resting at his side. “John.” Was that really his voice?

“Snow!” Forbes bellowing voice sent John flying backwards, flushed cheeks only growing redder. No doubt mirroring his own. God his heart was racing. Sherlock was silently thankful for the wall holding him up, since his knees felt less than stable.

“Snow!” The door was yanked open shortly after, Forbes glaring between the two of them with a hand still over his jaw.

“Doctor Watson merely wanted to make sure you would be fine, sir.” Edward explained, standing straight. The wig felt too lose. Blast it all to hell. He just needed to be alone to fix the damn thing but Sherlock forced his body still. Fidgeting would give the wrong impression. Forbes was already suspecting something by the way his eyes shifted between him and John.

Sherlock planned on complimenting John for thinking to keep his hurt hand hidden, and being subtle about it as well!

Placing his body between Forbes and John he gave a smile, placing a hand on Forbes' arm. “Might I suggest not speaking until you know the extent of your injury?”

“John Watson.” Forbes growled the name, and Sherlock knew they needed to get out of there. “Let me see your hands. Both of them.”

Oh well, it had been a nice plan for a while. When Forbes went to push past him to get a better view of John's hands Sherlock brought his elbow up quickly, letting the mans body fall where it did.

“Sherlock! We can’t just... we can’t just leave him here!” John was already grabbing a limp Forbes under the arms and starting to drag him to the empty room.

Letting out a huff he watched the other struggle. “Would simply be easier to kill him.”

The look John gave him quickly put a halt to that idea. Forbes was no longer a good source for information unless he left Mycroft ‘handle’ it. Which meant something worse than death but John wouldn’t agree with it. One hardly needed to be a genius to know that.

 

It was comments such as that that made John remember exactly what Sherlock was. Dropping Forbes right inside the room John slammed the door, grabbing Sherlock's arm. They had to leave and they had to go now!

“Sherlock!” John growled when the other yanked out of his grip. They didn’t have time for this! Forbes might not send the police on their heels but there was plenty worse he could do.

“Mrs. Hudson will need to find Mycroft. You wish to warn Lestrade but his new rank protects him. The murder of the homeless, whores, and other such people Forbes sees as beneath society are easy to hide but Lestrade is engaged to be tied to a well family. That alone makes his murder far too risky.”

John wanted to believe that but it wasn’t a guarantee on Greg's safety. He at least needed to know. Be given the chance to protect himself. Sherlock needed to go warn Mrs. Hudson.

“Are you going to Mycroft's, then?”

Sherlock scoffed, shaking his head. “In truth your jealous tirade is most beneficial.”

The surge of emotion left him speechless. Jealous?! He hadn’t been jealous! Sherlock merely looked at him, smirking. Yes he’d punched Forbes but it didn’t have to be because he was jealous.

“Forbes will wish above all else to keep Edward silent. Him sending the killer after me would actually be perfect.” Sherlock was almost shaking with excitement at the idea. Bloody lunatic. It was perfectly Sherlock.

Without warning warm lips pressed against his, hand at the back of his neck. John could barely make out what Sherlock's words, “Plenty of time for you to get out of the city.”

Clearing his mind John frowned, grabbing for Sherlock's sleeve. “You just expect me to leave you?”

Leave Sherlock behind as nothing more than bait? John wasn’t sure what exactly made him angrier. The fact Sherlock actually thought he was that type of man or that Sherlock was so willing to throw his life away.

“No.”

“John.”

“No, Sherlock!” John licked nervously at his lower lip, pulling further way as he pushed back the emotions threatening to take over. “Just... no. I will not leave you to save myself and the fact you think I would...” He actually had to turn away, shaking his head.

Sherlock said nothing, most likely trying to find the most cutting remarks. John fully admitted he was acting like one of those fools Sherlock would happily rip apart.

“Do you trust me, John?”

Turning around he searched the other's face, not finding an answer there. Instead only a cross expression that grew more annoyed after a heartbeat of silence.

“Simple question, John. Yes or no?”

“What do you bloody well think?” John snapped with no real malice, returning the grin Sherlock gave him.

“Then trust me now.”

 

Even with the wig tugging at the few hairs it hung onto Sherlock didn’t bother removing it. The point was for Forbes to send someone after him, and he had to look like Edward Snow. As soon as this was over he planned on burning this wig, and anything else that reminded him of being Edward, and reminded him of Forbes.

By now Forbes would be awake and debating what to do. He was a temperamental type, prone to aggression first and foremost but he wouldn’t be about this. John wouldn’t be intimidated to keep his mouth shut but the first thing that would make sense to do was have the only real ‘witness’ end up dead or missing.

Oh! Maybe Forbes would actually use this event to try and pin Edward's murder on John. Maybe even the other murders? It would be a stunning forward push for his career. End John's life. Keep his secret safe. That would be brilliant!

Doubtful. Forbes wasn’t the one pulling the strings and he didn’t seem to have the imagination for something like that. If there was time to talk with Magnessun it could be possible but Sherlock was sure Forbes wouldn’t wait that long.

Pride was such a vicious motivator.

“Mrs. Hudson!”

The silence that greeted him was unnerving. Sherlock actually felt a chill as he forced his way into Mrs. Hudson's quarters, relaxing somewhat as Olivia greeted him. No aggression. A little slow but that just meant she’d eaten recently.

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock yelled now.

Shuffling movement from upstairs had him running before he even realized it. He caught the old woman merely folding discarded clothes, putting them away neatly.

“Oh, Sherlock, I didn’t even hear you.” Mrs. Hudson laughed like it was nothing. Of course it was nothing for her! Dim witted woman wouldn’t realize danger was at her door step until the hand was around her throat! No. Mrs. Hudson wasn’t dim witted. Sherlock knew better than to actually feel that way. 

“Mrs. Hudson, there’s-“

“Is John coming soon? There are some sandwiches. Poor dear looks simply haggard. You don’t look much better yourself.”

Grabbing the woman's arms he took in a deep breath, calming the urge to snap at her to shut up. “Please, Mrs. Hudson, I need you to listen. Just... listen.” Sherlock said, voice gentle and pleading.

Mrs. Hudson looked up at him in surprise. “Sherlock, what’s happened?”

She let him explain without interrupting once, only taking in everything Sherlock said until he finally stopped. Nodding briskly Mrs. Hudson went to grab only a handful of items, all of personal value that she’d brought. She didn’t even spare a glance at the beautiful furnishings in the rest of the small home.

Clutching the items tightly she nodded again, head held high. “You had better take care of John. He’s such a good lad. Not that you aren’t yourself. Oh just listen to me rambling.” She chuckled, eyes blinking faster than normal. “Please take care of yourself, Sherlock.”

Mycroft would know something was wrong by now. He’d be here soon and Sherlock couldn’t be caught here and forced under his brother's overly protective watch.

“Between you and John what trouble could I possibly get into?” Sherlock joked to ease the emotion-laden tension.

“John is a good man. I could see it the moment I saw him bring you from that horrid opium den.” She murmured, voice starting to shake.

John was a good man. The type of man mothers hoped their sons would turn out to be, and fathers would proudly brag as being theirs. Yes. John was a wonderful man and Sherlock had dragged the good man down into a ‘not good’ situation.

 

Leaving Sherlock alone at all sounded bad. It went against everything in John screaming to stick close to the man. Sherlock was right though. It would take too long if they didn’t separate or at least a short time. They both had far too much to take care of, Sherlock more than John actually.

Greg was protected by only a few factors but they were powerful enough to keep him safe but he needed to know. Harry was safe just because not even John knew where she was now. Only that she was somewhere safe far away from the city, at the insistence of a friend she’d made. There was no one else to worry about.

Which would have made things easier if one of the people he worried about wasn’t a man who got off on putting himself in dangerous situations.

John didn’t stop long enough to think about that. The fact that he worried about Sherlock. The fact he’d been driven to punch Forbes in that smug face after just seeing what he’d seen. Nor could he waste time thinking about the warmth left behind after Sherlock had kissed him.

God save him.

Things felt so normal as John walked through Greg's home, looking for any trace of the man. The few members of staff eyed him carefully, exchanging looks. Everything might have felt normal but John knew he looked less than his best, and his bruised knuckles didn’t help much either.

Raking fingers through his hair John cursed softly, sagging against the office door. Where could that bastard be? Just couldn’t be where he needed to be.

“Doctor Watson?” Josephine approached him slowly, smile a little strained. God, he must have looked bad if she was acting so skittish towards him.

“Where’s Greg?” He asked quickly.

“Mr. Lestrade was sent an invitation to Lord and Lady Oates vacation home. He left a while ago. John, what’s wrong?” Her voice shook, expression growing panicked. 

“He’s not here.” John chuckled weakly, resting his head against the doorframe and almost laughing. “Good. That’s good, yep. Josephine, there’s a bag under my bed. Could you please bring it here?”

The permanently packed bag had always seemed a little crazy, even John could admit that but now he was just glad for it. When it was finally in hand he gave the items a quick scan, checking to make sure everything was in place.

“What should I tell Mr. Lestrade?”

Telling anyone anything was too much of a danger. “I’ll be in touch.” John gave a grin before leaving, bag over his shoulder. Now just to find bloody Sherlock.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

What Mrs. Hudson told him sounded stupid even for Sherlock. It was reckless and threw every plan out the window all for... for what? Sentiment? Mycroft wanted nothing more than to get his hands around his little brother's throat in that moment.

Frustration from the past few weeks bubbled to the surface, making it admittedly harder to think. Which was a mortifying thought in itself. He wasn’t like this. Sherlock might be foolish enough to give into sentiment but he wasn’t Sherlock! He was Mycroft Holmes.

Placing steady palms against the windowsill Mycroft sagged for half a minute, feeling utterly haggard. In the other room he could hear Mrs. Hudson talking about Sherlock. How worried she was but that John would take care of him.

His spy had said Gregory wasn’t at home. Heading away for a trip. It had been hours since then, and in that time John had been by the house and left with a bag in hand.

John Watson loved danger. Sherlock might actually be perfect for him in that case.

“Sir, I took the liberty of having Mrs. Hudson relocated for the time being. As well as arranging a ship to be prepared.” Athena was smart but the last part of her sentence almost had him questioning that.

Turning around sharply Mycroft opened his mouth before closing it sharply, flushing at her almost smug expression.

“I also had your traveling arrangements prepared. Ready to leave when you are, sir.”

“Do I need to ask where I’m going?” Mycroft asked, straightening his waistcoat as Athena's smile grew bigger.

As if it weren’t already glaringly obvious.

Refusing to react he went to walk past the woman, pointedly ignoring the soft chuckle.

“Have the ship ready by the time I return. It shan’t take too long.”

Oh no. Despite what protection Sherlock thought Gregory's newfound wealth provided him it wasn’t fool-proof. Did Sherlock expect him to pick up the slack on this end?

He’d never hear the end of it.

 

The invitation had come as a surprise. Not an especially welcome surprise but Greg had felt rather obligated to go. He almost heard the plea in the words ‘suggesting’ he come. That Rebecca would be thrilled to see him.

Greg gave a snort just thinking about it in the carriage. There was plenty of time to think when one was going to be stuck in a sodding carriage for at least a day and a half. It was already getting late in the day by the time an inn was found for the night.

Poor horses needed a rest anyway.

It certainly wasn’t a fancy place. More like the type of establishment that made Greg glad he carried a hidden weapon at all times but they’d only be here one night. It was just easier than trying to find something better.

Keeping any trace of money out of sight he tossed out enough on the counter for a drink and a room. The innkeeper behind the counter gave him a narrowed eyed glare before swiping up the coins.

Greg didn’t give a damn if anyone in the entire inn liked him or not. Nearly a full day's travel and he was tired, and not too excited for continuing this little adventure tomorrow. The best thing right now was to keep buying cheap pints to blend in. Having any hint of actual wealth in a place like this would just get his throat slit in the middle of the night. 

By the time Greg was upstairs in a private room he felt a little more relaxed. The cheap ale was surprisingly strong. At least he’d cut himself off relatively early. Lord and Lady Oates might be content with the match their daughter made but him showing up hung over most likely wouldn’t go off well.

The bed was about as he’d expected in terms of comfort. Greg rolled over for about the fifth time in about thirty minutes, trying to just fall asleep. Every little sound made him jerk awake, making him wish he’d brought John. There was no other man he trusted to make sure he didn’t end up dead in his sleep.

_Mycroft?_

No. Not Mycroft. He didn’t trust Mycroft. Why would he trust a bloody pirate?

_Trusted the ‘bloody pirate’ enough to shag him._

Greg flexed his fingers around the knife under his pillow, cursing. No. He hadn’t trusted Mycroft even then. No. That had been... different. It hadn’t been about trust.

 

At some point he must have dozed off because the next thing Greg knew he was jerking awake, feeling suddenly uncomfortable and twitchy. The room was dark, the thin moon outside not giving much light. Trying not to move around too much he laid there breathing calmly, pretending to still be asleep as he let his eyes adjust to the dark.

“Please, Gregory, a mere child could tell when you woke.”

Squeezing the knife handle tightly Greg almost wanted to scream. Which wasn’t helped by the annoyed comment about how the knife wouldn’t be much of a help.

“Sure you’re not cursed? Because you certainly feel like a curse to me!” Greg snapped, sitting up so fast his head spun. Right across the room sat Mycroft Holmes, looking out of place in the shabby room. No doubt plenty of men had thought about getting this rich bastard's gold soon as he fell asleep but something told Greg the other wasn’t here to actually sleep. 

Rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes Greg let out a dramatically loud sigh. “I would say this is a dream meant to torture me but I don’t think I’ve done anything that deserves this.”

“Your life, simply put, might be in danger, Captain Lestrade.”

As tired and frustrated as he felt, that wasn’t something someone could ignore. Frowning at the heavily shadowed figure Greg had the passing thought if this had anything to do with Mycroft before another thought took its place. “What about John?”

 

Mycroft didn’t feel much better than Gregory looked. Traveling by land had never been a wonderful experience for him, and having to stop at such a place. Sherlock was the one who ‘slummed’ better, that was a contest Mycroft would forfeit happily.

As it was he hadn’t expected Gregory to be glad to see him but the hostile display was a tad bit more extreme than he’d been picturing. Actually, no, Mycroft had expected this. Gregory was a smart man but prone to acting on emotion first, and there were very few positive ones of him for the captain.

“John was fine last I heard.” Mycroft smiled, annoyance towards his brother rearing its ugly head. “It seems my dear brother and Doctor Watson have a knack for getting into trouble.”

The rest of the story just annoyed him to repeat but he did owe Gregory that much he supposed. Not that it seemed to matter. Gregory looked at him as if he sat there blathering away about the weather instead of saying his life was in danger.

“Right.” Gregory looked more relaxed but it was clear everything hadn’t sunk in quite yet. Mycroft waited for the questions, and grew a tad bit uncomfortable when nothing came. He just sat there.

Mycroft almost reassured him before forcing the words back with a passion.

“Why are you here?” Gregory continued without leaving room for Mycroft to reply. “I know why you’re here but. . _why_ are you here, Mycroft?”

This was a tad bit surprising, and something he didn’t have a prepared answer for.

“You think this is a ruse for my own gain.” Mycroft sighed, standing slowly. There was truly not enough time to waste. Making his way over to the bed he towered over the sitting figure, watching the other's pupils dilate slightly or maybe that was a trick of the shadows. “Your mind was quick to assume I wished to gain you. Why is that, Captain?”

 

Everything inside him was tense, growing steadily tighter as Mycroft continued to just look at him. Greg still had a hand under the pillow with his knife but the moment his arm so much as twitched that blasted silver tipped cane was at his throat.

“So much you give away in only a few actions.” Mycroft about damn near purred!

Greg felt the cool silver press gently into his throat before it trailed downward, catching on the loose collar of his shirt. Mycroft bent down closer, glaring eyes burning into him.  
“If I wanted you, Gregory. I would have you.”

“You don’t have the nerve.” Greg growled, hating himself when his tone caught. His heart was pounding, palms sweaty and somewhat twitchy.

“Now now, I think we both know you know better than that.” Mycroft's smirk both enraged and aroused him.

The surge of arousal was almost painful and Greg struggled not to react but it was there. So painfully obvious that even he couldn’t ignore it. Mycroft just chuckled, moving the cane downward until the tip just barely brushed between Greg's thighs.

Instinct nearly had his thighs falling open further, the lust making it harder to think.

Greg didn’t realize his eyes had drifted closed until he opened them to find a gentle grip around his throat. His head was tilted back slowly, eyes refusing to look up until the grip at his throat tightened.

What the hell was Mycroft doing?

This had to stop. Greg reached up, roughly grabbing the wrist belonging to the hand at his throat. As his body was pushed roughly against the headboard he gasped, the sound only muffled by the lips now covering his.

 

Mycroft could feel the lust radiating from Gregory's body. It hit him like waves, begging for more even as his own common sense told him to leave. He had delivered the news, and even that was stupid enough but this put him into the same category as Sherlock!

This was why he’d sent Gregory away in the first place. It was so damned hard to think like this. When his knees hit the bed it was like a numbing bucket of water to the mind but firm hands in his shirt made it harder to detach from the kiss.

He could feel the racing pulse under his grip and on a whim Mycroft increased the pressure of his hand until Gregory's eyes went wide. Loosening his hand Mycroft smirked at the tremble it caused in the other man.

Those rare few since Gregory had never been this responsive. All of them so very dull. It was just easier to think with them.

Gregory Lestrade was a problem. An easy to fix problem.

Crashing their lips together again Mycroft moved his hand to the back of Lestrade's neck, pulling the man's body up slightly to pull him away from the headboard. It was almost too easy to get Gregory laid out over the bed, his body hovering just above without a mere touch.

Mycroft placed a kiss against Gregory's throat, brushing his tongue over where neck became shoulder. That knife was just within reach. Gregory could so easily grab it, stab him, and leave. Mycroft expected it, almost hoped it would happen. He would stop it, of course, but that would be the perfect motivation to leave.

Every moment Gregory didn’t reach for that damn knife Mycroft felt himself slipping. The warm hands at his back were dulling his senses further, making his blood boil.

 

Needed to stop. Had to stop. This was a bad idea. Why was it a bad idea? Greg tried to wade through the jumbled mess in his brain as he arched up, moaning weakly at the gentle nip to his collarbone. At Mycroft's throaty chuckle it hit him, hard.

Mycroft had sent him away. He had actually begged and Mycroft had been the one to send him away. “You sodding bastard!”

Was this just to prove a point? Greg shoved at Mycroft's shoulders roughly, wincing at the hard bite to his neck. “Stop that!” He hissed. This wasn’t the island where he could blame his captive status on giving into Mycroft's desires.

With a little bit of struggle Greg flipped them over, hand now pinning the others throat to the bed. “You might bloody well take all of sodding England one day but you won’t just _take_ me.” Greg said firmly, glaring down at the man pinned beneath him.

 

Oh, this was interesting. Mycroft didn’t bother to struggle as he let Gregory have this moment. “You sound angry, offended but at what? You’re being very transparent, Gregory.” He mocked softly, frowning as the grip tightened. Not enough to cut off his air way but just enough to threaten it.

“You could so easily kill me but will you? It would certainly solve many problems for you. So so many in fact.” Mycroft murmured, resting his hands at Gregory's hips. “Question is, will you?”  
“I should.”

Those eyes drifted down to his lips and Mycroft almost smirked.

“Caring is certainly not an advantage, is it, Gregory?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finish reading all that? Great! You're fantastic! Thank you again.
> 
> As always I love comments. Comments help so much in making sure I keep doing(or stop doing) things you dislike in the fic itself. Kudos are also nice but if you feel the fic doesn't deserve it yet that's completely fine as well. Understandable.


	7. "I'd be lost without my doctor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always a huge huge thanks to audreyneedsacase.
> 
> And sorry it's taken so long to post anything. Life has just been a crazy mess with work. Plus I have been hanging out with friends but I have been trying to keep working on this.
> 
> Just a huge thank you to everyone reading this. I can only hope that I'm still keeping it enjoyable for you.

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

John didn’t want to put a name to the warm emotion building up in his gut. Without so much as a backwards glance John left, heart pounding and body almost trembling. The leather strap dug into his shoulder but he didn’t feel it for a second.

The only thing to dull this slight sliver of whatever it was, was remembering that he didn’t currently know the whereabouts of a certain Sherlock Holmes. A smarter man might have questioned if he’d been tricked, that maybe Sherlock had left him here alone and gone off. Oddly enough John didn’t spare a thought for any of it.

Sherlock wouldn’t be home. Not even Mrs. Hudson would be there. Pulling the strap tighter against his shoulder John started walking, at least knowing to stall in one spot too long wouldn’t be a good idea. John had only gone a few streets over when a young boy ran into him, nearly sending them both falling.

“Sorry, mister. Sorry!” The boy, more a young man actually, brushed John's shirt off as he tried to help him steady. John didn’t bother to hide the motion of checking his pockets when the young man darted off, but instead of finding anything missing the crinkle of paper met his finger-tips. With a blank expression John walked a few more feet before pulling the paper out, finding a smudged note written out to him.

_The Smuggler. Find Soo Lin. Mrs. Hudson is safe. I assumed your mind would be put at some sort of ease, therefore making you a decent asset, but if I were to lie you would never know the difference._ >

Right. Sherlock. Couldn’t hold back that tongue even in written word, could he? John grinned at that before shoving the paper back into his pocket.

Stealing a careful glance over his shoulder to check for anything he kept walking, keeping it steady and relaxed. Attention was the last thing he needed at this point.

 

Where was he? Sherlock felt the annoyed eyes on him but honestly couldn’t care. Even under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have cared about how Sally glared at his constant pacing.

“Say it and be done with it!” He finally snapped, turning the frustration out on her. If she was going to stare at him might as well say what she was thinking, even though it was written on her face plain as day.

“He’d already be here if you’d just let me go get him!” Sally snapped.

“Too much a risk.” Sherlock repeated the same reason as before when Sally had offered to go find John. The odds were truly small but Sherlock wouldn’t risk someone following Sally and finding John in the process. The note he’d sent would reach John.

Sally gave a frustrated scoffing noise, hands in the air as she stormed from the room. It didn’t provide much privacy from each other but Sherlock hadn’t turned down the offer when Soo Lin had given it. A favor for saving her life from a band of smugglers from her youth.

The last part was John being here.

Pacing back to the window Sherlock cursed softly. Where was he?

It felt like hours before he heard the familiar only slightly limped walk. How preposterous was that notion? Hardly any time had passed but Sherlock felt relief rushing through him as he listened to Johns laugh through the door.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

It had taken everything in Greg to take his eyes off of Mycroft. To remove himself from the only man, only person really, that could drive him wild. Even now Greg felt the overwhelming guilt that had been the main motivator to make him stop. Rebecca didn’t deserve that.

Raking hands through his hair again Greg cursed his weak body, which even hours later begged for him to find Mycroft. 

Every time the carriage gave a hard jolt that sent pain coursing through his backside Greg just bared his teeth, accepting the discomfort. Let it be some sort of penance for his weakness.

Between the bouncing carriage ride Greg forced himself to think about his fiancée. Her auburn hair, stormy eyes, and somewhat annoyed demeanor were all appealing to him. Whenever she playfully snapped he’d found it endearing. Now she just seemed angry. Lady Oates brushed it off as ‘cold feet’, and Lord Oates just huffed while saying something about how emotional women could be.

As the carriage came to a halt in front of their country home Greg was starting to wonder if this had been a mistake from the start.

In a blurring whirl Greg found himself cleaned up and being escorted to the parlor, where he could already hear voices. Lady Oates giving a little giggle and Lord Oates bellowing laugh, even Rebecca was chuckling. Another faint chuckle caught his ear and for a second Greg paused, the little voice in the back of his mind protesting.

The butler was about to announce his presence instead let out a rather undignified yelp as Greg pushed past him into the parlor. All eyes turned to him, and Lord Oates stood to greet Greg with a friendly, if a bit confused, smile. Greg took the man's hand but didn’t really feel it. Sitting only a few feet away across from Rebecca was Mycroft Holmes.

Everything about him looked so well put together, so perfectly suited for the riches around him that Greg almost wanted to laugh.

“You didn’t tell us your cousin would be stopping by, Gregory.” Rebecca said with a little smile at Mycroft, who had the nerve to return it as if they were old friends.  
“Merely a surprise for my dear cousin.”

“He surely does look surprised!” Rebecca chuckled.

Greg actually felt dizzy when he looked at his ex-lover and fiancée. How hadn’t he seen this?

 

For a man who looked as if he might simply faint Gregory was holding up remarkably well. The disbelief gave way to a forced look of pleasantness but for these simpletons it was quite believable. They were a foolish bunch that reminded him more of grazing cows. Then again that was the impression from most everyone; it wasn’t just limited to money or rank.

And this fiancée. 

Oh, Mycroft could honestly say he disliked her most of all. Carrying on with a stable hand for at least two years now. Mother knew but kept it quiet for fear of it leaking out, father no clue but both were pushing for their daughter to marry. It didn’t matter to them that their daughter loathed the man who might be tied to her for life.

Each second he forced himself to sit there playing nice for social convention Mycroft found his iron clad will sorely tested. He wanted to tell Gregory point blank that his dear little fiancée was already sleeping with another man, that she would most assuredly run off with him in just a few years’ time. Of course, he did no such thing. Acting so tactless and crude was more Sherlock's game than his.

Standing gracefully he gave a polite smile as he looked at Gregory. “If you would excuse us a mere moment. I really must speak to my cousin.”

Mycroft took advantage of Gregory's stunned silence to lead him from the room, hand clasped tightly at the other's elbow. It was completely expected that as soon as they were alone in another one of the overly furnished sitting rooms Gregory yanked out of his grip, pacing around the room much like a caged animal.

“No immature threat, Captain?”

“Stop calling me that!” Gregory bellowed, eyes flashing with fire as he glared. Mycroft felt his pulse quicken at the commanding presence the other gave.

 

Bollocks!

Greg shook his head, holding a hand up when Mycroft started to speak. The cocky smirk sent his blood boiling.

“Not that it’s any of your bloody concern but I’m going back to London tomorrow.”

Mycroft raised one eyebrow in question. “You wish to question John about what I told you. I wasn’t aware you were so mistrusting, Gregory.”

Oh this bastard! This bloody pain in his arse.

“As I said, not. Your. Bloody. Concern.” Greg said slowly, walking towards the door. “I don’t expect you to still be here when I am done visiting with my fiancée.” He said softly but the threat was there.

“Is that an order, Captain?”

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

_“Are you trying to put me off?”_

_“God no, trying to recruit you.”_

John played the scene over and over in his mind, still wondering if he was just picturing that pleased smirk on Sherlock's face or if it had really been there. Tilting his face into the wind John took in a deep breath of sea air, soaking in the rocking motion of the deck beneath his feet.

Soo Lin's junk ship was nothing special. John actually found it beautiful but Sherlock had gone into detail about how it was nothing more than a basic supply ship. Soo Lin, thankfully in John's opinion, had merely chuckled as if amused by Sherlock's ramblings after Johns compliment.

Standing on the deck as the crew finished loading the ship John had listened as Soo Lin explained to Sherlock where they would be taken.

‘They’. As in both him and Sherlock.

“John.”

Glancing over his shoulder he offered a grin but knew how tired and strained it must have looked. He no doubt looked worn out and old but Sherlock still managed to look completely put together. Maybe it was John's imagination but Sherlock looked uncomfortable now.

 

Mrs. Hudson's words rolled through his mind again. Everything about John being a good man, and Sherlock remembered where exactly this good man was going to end up. Would it be the better choice to take him back? Maybe even take him to Irene while this game continued without him.

Sherlock also saw how John had looked in London shuffling with the help of a cane. Standing here on deck now John looked tired but more at peace, despite knowing the dangers trailing behind them.

Everything he’d been about to say melted as he gave a chuckle, merely stepping up next to the shorter man.

“Manners would dictate I inform you I could take you somewhere safe. Far away from Moriarty and far away from me.”

Sherlock watched John from the corner of his eye, judging the reaction as the man leaned lightly against the railing. With a small shrug John turned his face away. “Manners? Since when have you given a damn about manners?” He chuckled. “Besides, I think the past few hours show just how much trouble you get into alone.”

It was joking but the undertone was clear, at least to Sherlock. This wasn’t an issue John wanted to debate. They were truly in this together it seemed.

“I would be truly lost without my doctor.” Sherlock found himself saying.

 

Hours later and John felt conflicted at what Sherlock had said. The comfortable bed beneath him could have been filled with rocks for all John could tell at that moment. Of course it wasn’t. It was actually the ships captain's bed but the man had offered his entire cabin for Sherlock and John's use, since Sherlock was a very close friend of his employer.

For a while he’d sat up in a chair attempting to sleep but after nearly snapping his neck more than a few times John had happily taken over the bed. If Sherlock was planning on showing up now he could just sod off. John gave his mind a mental shake. Sherlock could sod off for many reasons. 

Rolling over to bury his face in the pillow John let the gentle rocking of the ship lull his senses. As lulled as they could be when he was a ship full of strangers, all of them working for an opium drug lord who had strong connections with pirates. The last part was more a guess but John wouldn’t have been any sort of surprised to find out it was true.

Someone on hurried feet entered the room, not bothering to shut the door softly. Even if John hadn’t known that was Sherlock the door slamming would have been a giveaway.

“Sherlock.”

“Oh, John, I didn’t think you’d still be up.”

That little bastard.

“Is that why you slammed the bloody door?” John growled, sitting up and glaring at the man. Narrowing his eyes he searched the less than perfectly made up figure. Something looked... different. A tad bit off. What was it though? “Sherlock, have you-“ John cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound more forceful so the question wouldn’t go ignored. “Have you taken something?”

The confused glance would have eased his worries if he didn’t know Sherlock so well. It was strange to think he even knew the man at all considering everything but John knew Sherlock. He just did. “Sherlock.” He said slowly.

Crystal eyes fluttered away as the man scoffed. “Nothing serious, John. Tobacco mixed with hemp.” John didn’t stop glaring even when Sherlock met his gaze again.

“You knew I wouldn’t approve. You took the bloody time to fix yourself up but you also wanted me to find out.”

Sherlock looked puzzled but interested as his body language relaxed. “How so, John?”

“If you really didn’t want me to know I wouldn’t know. You left yourself a mess on purpose.” He didn’t understand why though. 

 

Sherlock was a little annoyed that John couldn’t think faster than this but he also felt so content. Hemp wasn’t what he normally enjoyed but at the offer he had happily accepted, letting the smoke clear out his mind. There was another reason he didn’t exactly enjoy smoking the strange smelling drug. Something he always blocked out until it was already too late to stop.

“My doctor Watson.” Sherlock murmured, struggling through the hazy fog lingering in his skull. He took a few careful steps closer to the bed, watching John's reaction the entire time. Would he laugh? Be disgusted even? This wasn’t a situation where sexual desires could be excused such as ‘We were stuck on an island with just the two of us’.

“Cocky way of thinking, that.” John just chuckled in a throaty voice, tongue darting out to brush at his lower lip. 

“You aren’t disgusted.” Sherlock didn’t hear the words from his own mouth. Only realized he’d been so stupid as to utter them when John gave him a confused look.  
“Can’t really judge you, can I?” John replied with a weak smile.

What? Oh, John meant in regards to liking men. Well, no, John couldn’t throw stones where that was concerned but that hadn’t been what he’d meant. Only a few hours ago John had caught him at another man's feet, being held down on said man's cock. John had been angry about it.

Running fingers through his tangled curls Sherlock frowned. “I don’t know what to say.” He murmured, hating that stupid drug in that moment. His mind was heavy, everything else growing just as heavy and slowly becoming hard to use.

He didn’t realize John was up until gentle hands urged him to the bed, not really needing to force him into a resting position. Sherlock curled into the soft bed like a cat, almost groaning at the soft texture pressed against his cheek.

Grabbing the doctor's hand Sherlock held it carefully, feeling the slowly increasing pulse under his finger-tips. Yes, there was another reason he hated getting high like this. The blood pooling between his thighs, almost demanding he take actions. At least there had never been actual temptation to lie with anyone but John was different. John was a temptation by just existing. Like this it was torture.

Nipping gently at Johns fingers he suddenly felt the urge to giggle but couldn’t. Instead he let out a breathy chuckle that had the hand within his own trembling.

“You were jealous. John Watson was jealous.” Sherlock murmured, leaning into the hand caressing his cheek now. “I never enjoyed what he did. Does that make it better?”

 

Make it better? John wanted to leave it alone. Sherlock was too much under the influence of this damn drug to talk about anything. He could see the glazed over eyes trying to think but not at Sherlock's normal speed.

Not that they actually needed to discuss this anyway. It wasn’t his concern was Sherlock did, never had been.

“No.” John sighed instead, sitting on the edge of the bed. He wasn’t good at this sort of stuff. “Makes me sound like a jealous prat.” He grumbled.

The hazy eyes searched his still, something in that gaze making John's chest clench tightly. He had been jealous, might have even hated Sherlock for willingly playing along with Forbes games but knowing Sherlock hadn’t liked any part of it was worse.

Leaning down he pressed their foreheads together, breathing in the musky scent that was Sherlock underneath lingering smoke.

“I’m a pirate.” Sherlock whispered.

“Yes.” John whispered in reply, soft lips pressing against his own.

Whoever had started it, it didn’t matter. Once it had started nothing mattered but feeling more of each other.

John felt the coldness of a lonely year melting away as Sherlock arched beneath him, lips parting to allow the kiss to deepen. His blood ran hot, threatening to burn him from the inside out as he trailed kisses down Sherlock's throat.

There was no logical reason to still want Sherlock. To want this bloody insane, brilliant man in his bed and life.

“Forbes wanted you to hate me.” Sherlock murmured, making John draw up to prop on his elbow since he’d ended up on the bed himself.

“Sod him.”

They shared a small laugh together before their lips found each other again, drawing out the amusement in the moment.

The last few hours had been taxing, to put it gently. John felt tired both physically and mentally but, despite all that, he didn’t want to stop. Warm hands running over his back urged him on, and Sherlock seemed more than content to continue as well.

“We can’t do this when you’re like this.” John forced himself to pull away, brushing a curl back from Sherlock's forehead. He could taste the smoke after such a kiss and could see the drugged fog in the others eyes. It felt wrong.

Warm fingers raked through his hair, lingering at the back of his head. “I would say you find me unappealing now but the signs of arousal are there. Nor do you appear distinctly ashamed of your desires.”

Leave it to Sherlock to ramble like that when drugged. Chuckling softly John shook his head, about to answer when the fingers in his hair tightened and pulled him down.

“Please, John.”

“Sherlock. .”

“Please.”

With a silent prayer John leaned back into the kiss, heart slamming against his chest. He wasn’t sure who removed what but before John knew it he was on his back, stripped down to his breeches and a shirtless Sherlock straddled his lower body.

John flinched slightly at finger-tips tracing over the scar on his shoulder, the puckered flesh tingling at the attention. The fingers were replaced by soft lips, soft curls tickling the side of his face when Sherlock bent closer.

“I don’t understand.” Sherlock murmured against his shoulder. “You don’t look ashamed to want me; you never actually appear bothered by me. I don’t. . understand.”

Any answer seemed pointless, at least John assumed so since the figure on top of his own was slowly sagging to the side and snoring softly. Chuckling he rolled Sherlock carefully onto his side, wrapping a protective arm around the slender waist.

If John were honest he hoped Sherlock wouldn’t bother to ask about that when he did wake up. He didn’t understand it much either. Nothing about this was sane, safe, or even conventionally normal. All John knew was that life in London had been made bearable only by his best friend but it couldn’t last forever. Life with Sherlock added into the fray was a different game. Exciting, dangerous, brilliant. 

Pressing his face against the other's neck John smiled weakly. No. He didn’t understand it either but he knew life would never be boring.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

Mycroft Holmes had created a completely new person. Someone that Lord and Lady Oates were eating up happily. They were charmed by his wit, never seeing when he made fun of them or made one of those... comments.

Greg wasn’t completely surprised when Mycroft didn’t leave. Hell, he wasn’t really that surprised when Rebecca's family took to Mycroft so easily. Pirate or not Mycroft had been born with ‘proper’ breeding. Watching the way he exchanged such pleasantries with Lord Oates was proof of that. It left Greg feeling a little out of sorts.

Rebecca was even charmed by Mycroft but that wasn’t the thing that actually bothered him. Greg was still coping with the fact Rebecca was more or less Mycroft but in a female body. She wasn’t quite was witty, smart, or charming but he could see it now. Everything about her he had adored was just a duller version of Mycroft.

Rebecca fawned over Mycroft. In such subtle ways Greg wondered if his mind was just making it up but he couldn’t deny it after the fifth unnecessarily loud giggle at something Mycroft had said one night. Almost a bloody fortnight and Greg was ready to throw either that pompous twat out the window or even himself.

Buttoning up a coal gray waistcoat Greg debated which would be more merciful. Rebecca obviously liked Mycroft, and her affections towards him seemed cool even at the best of times these days. Even her parents seemed to prefer Mycroft. Snorting softly he left the guest room to search out his fiancée.

And Mycroft. Greg felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle as he pictured the way Mycroft laughed so easily at the dinner table, his expression not quite cold when he returned one of Rebecca's smiles.

The dangers waiting for him outside this home, back in London, felt almost forgotten as Greg stewed in his own annoyance. A part of him wanted to chase after John, see what help he could offer his friend but another part wanted to take shelter and just settle down.

Pausing by Lord Oates' study he was forced to come to a halt at the sight of Mycroft leaning against the mantle above the fireplace, eyes glued to the fire. At closer inspection Greg could faintly detect where something was burning to ash.

Finally glancing up he tensed at the eyes meeting his own. That fake polite warmth replaced by the mocking coolness. Mycroft didn’t pretend around him.

“John is safe, as is my brother.” Mycroft cast one more bored expression towards the fire before walking towards the desk, cane barely making a noise on the plush carpet. “For the moment. Sherlock does love his dramatics.”

John was safe. “Why-“

“Worried I’m lying, Captain?”

Greg glared, pretending the usage of that title didn’t bother him. Was Mycroft just saying that on purpose to get under his skin or was it to just show that whatever there had been was as pointless as Greg thought?

“Why wouldn’t John send me a note himself? I don’t exactly see you two warming up together, shoulder-to-shoulder in a bloody pub.” Greg finished his question.

“Maybe you have forgotten the dangers he is currently facing but Magnessun could easily divert a normal letter to his own hands. My own sources are much more secure, and would only bring me anything from an approved sender.” Mycroft explained. 

Forgotten? How could he forget the small detail of his life being in danger? Again. It might not have been Mycroft's fault but Greg wanted to blame the bastard. Give him another reason to want the man far away as possible out of his life.

 

What little fuse Gregory had left was surely burning to the quick. Just this tiny bit of teasing and he looked rather murderous.

“For a man about to be happily wed you hardly look the part.”

Mycroft knew it was what would have been considered a low blow. The way Gregory's eyes averted his gaze as his cheeks grew a soft shade of pink.

Good. Let Gregory start to find him distasteful.

Rebecca Oates. A wealthy noblewoman, with a taste for the rather dashing stableman's son. It was so mundane Mycroft found it nearly impossible not to laugh about it to her face. Gregory had no idea, of course. Nor did Lord Oates. Lady Oates harbored the idea but refused to think about it. She was willing to risk Gregory's happiness to maintain the family name but many nobles were in such a mind-set.

His warm farewell note lay neatly where it couldn’t be missed. Some excuse about urgent business, how sorry he was to miss the wedding, so many empty words. He had already overstayed. The ship was ready, prepared to take him home. This distraction had been rather spur of the moment.

Mycroft felt increasingly uncomfortable as he realized just how long he’d stayed here, and why. “It should please you to know I am leaving tomorrow morning.” Mycroft heard the man behind him shift, the question almost being asked but Gregory held it back by pretending to cough. “After this parting I can safely say this will be the last time. Good-bye, Captain Lestrade.”

He didn’t bother turning around, allowing the clipped words to settle. He had no intention of seeing Gregory Lestrade again. Mycroft felt too paranoid about his actions when around the man. Having a weak spot in Sherlock was bad enough but having one in Gregory was a horrible mistake waiting to happen. One afternoon Gregory would no doubt find his dearly beloved in the stable partaking in a riding lesson.

A small idea did start to blossom in the back of his mind but it was so. . so Sherlock! Mycroft turned quickly, offering a polite smile as Gregory flushed.

“If you would excuse me, Captain.” Brushing past the other Mycroft lingered for only a second as their shoulders brushed, feeling the way Gregory leaned into the touch. Something not even Gregory might have noticed.

What items had been brought along were ordered and packed, with him mumbling about leaving that afternoon instead of tomorrow. The gossiping hounds of servants would whisper about it, and gossip had a way of getting back to even those that didn’t serve.

 

Greg didn’t know how he felt at the idea of this actually being good-bye. A little voice reminded him that last time was supposed to be a final farewell and where was Mycroft now?  
Preparing to leave tomorrow.

Scratching at the dusting of stubble along his jawline Greg had the urge to pray for a pint. A few pints actually. Preferably on a ship many many miles from here. Away from this entire mess. It wasn’t the fault of his hosts, and especially not Rebecca's.

Would it be easier when Mycroft was gone? A shiver went down his spine as Greg pictured Rebecca sitting next to Mycroft. Mycroft must have had a good laugh at that.

“Gregory, dear?”

Turning around quickly he bowed, chuckling weakly. “My lady. I was on my way to see if Rebecca wanted to-“

“She’s not feeling well.” Lady Oates gave a forced smile, patting his arm. “Forgive my bluntness, Gregory. A soon-to-be-husband shouldn’t see his wife at her lowest.”

Fingers dug into his arm or was he imagining it? “Should I get a doctor? Something else?” Greg let the small woman lead him, her linked arm through his feeling more like a hook and chain.

With a high-pitched laugh that sounded uncomfortable even to his ears Lady Oates shook her head, patting his arm. “Of course not, darling. I will say it’s rather a shame your cousin won’t be staying for the wedding.”

The change in topic was quick and not welcome. At least this subject wasn’t.

“Oh, yes, he’s always been busy.” Greg struggled to keep talking but Lady Oates hardly seemed to notice. Her voice kept on and on as they walked down the hallway. Her praising Mycroft the entire time. Who she thought to be Mycroft anyway.

“I wish he would at least be staying for dinner. I don’t see why he should decide to leave by tonight.”

Greg hesitated in his stride long enough to get her attention. “Oh, dear, didn’t you know? I hope there hasn’t been a falling out between you two.” Lady Oates sounded all the part of a worried maternal figure but the gleam suggested more fodder for gossip would be better.

Carefully removing the hand still latched onto his arm he gave it a chaste kiss, barely feeling anything besides the pounding in his chest. The slight tremor in his hands he brushed off as having not eaten anything that morning, the sudden fear crawling up his spine he blamed on more cold feet about the wedding. None of it had anything to do with Mycroft Holmes. Or with the fact Mycroft was leaving.

The guest room door was closed, making it impossible to just take a quick peek to see if it was still in use.

Greg gave a small tap against the wood, mentally cursing himself as he turned heel and walked off. In a little bit of a brisk manner.

This was good. Better than good. If Mycroft was leaving now he’d be gone by tonight and it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. Of course, what about John? Did he need to go through Mycroft to get in contact with his friend?

The excuse was like a comforting blanket, one Greg happily wrapped around himself as he made his way to the stables. Letting the excuse be the reason he ventured in search of Mycroft Holmes.

It was almost eerie in how deserted it was. The rich scent of fresh hay and clean horses was somehow comforting.

“Myc-“

“Gregory?!” Rebecca's voice was high pitched as she stepped into view, riding habit a little wrinkled but that seemed rather normal after a good ride.

Guilt was right there at the edge of why he was even in the stables at this time of day. “Rebecca, I thought. . ah, I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” Greg said, forcing a smile that only grew more strained when she huffed at him.

“I am perfectly healthy, Gregory. Why are you here?”

“Your mother said Mycroft was leaving today. Just thought I’d say farewell. Where’s Peter?”

Her cheeks grew flushed, eyes averting his gaze for a second before she crossed her arms. “Why would I know?” Her eyes darted behind him, shoulders visibly relaxing. “Mycroft!”  
Greg tensed, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Lady Rebecca.” Greg could feel the eyes burn into his back. “Gregory.”

“Mycroft.” He forced out, glancing over his shoulder.

“I do hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.” Mycroft chuckled but Greg caught the ever so small glare he cast towards Rebecca. Looking back at his fiancée it was impossible to miss the darkening blush as her expression grew cold.

“Of course not, sir.” She said darkly.

“Of course not.” Mycroft repeated.

Greg knew there was something he was missing. Something obvious or maybe he was just overthinking.

 

As expected Gregory had found his way to the stables but the final little ‘piece’ to the puzzle wasn’t quite in yet.

Sniffling at the strong smells Mycroft held a delicately scented handkerchief against his nose for a moment. “I really should excuse myself. My lady, please do give my regards to Peter. Maybe you could find out where he has been the last half hour or so when I’ve been trying to find him.”

“Mycroft!” Gregory hissed. At least he hadn’t missed the implied message behind that comment. Rebecca merely tensed and Mycroft could see the emotions, the way her eyes fluttered in the direction where her lover hid. Waiting for a chance to escape so he could be caught anywhere but there.

From what he knew this was where he was supposed to feel guilty. There was oddly nothing. Mycroft found it fascinating, if predictable, to watch Rebecca's silent reactions. She would confess sooner rather than later. Not out of a sense of guilt but because she was attempting to push Gregory away. It would be in a fit of desperation when she told him.

Mycroft could see it unfolding. The whole ugly affair as Gregory refused to tell anyone but him knowing was bad enough.

“How are your riding lessons going, Rebecca? I’ve heard Peter is an _excellent_ instructor.”

“Mycroft!” Gregory was there before Mycroft could even properly blink. The threatening tension mounting as Rebecca just covered her face, groaning weakly.

Tilting his head Mycroft felt something twist in his gut. This man would risk more than injury to defend his future wife's honor. Leaning in closer he smirked.

“Gregory Lestrade, I never took you for a fool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments comments comments! Please and thank you. I seriously live for the comments you guys make but if you don't have time I completely understand.
> 
> Kudos are also nice but if you feel the story doesn't deserve it yet that's completely fine. :3


	8. News.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge huge thanks to audreyneedsacase. As always.
> 
> And a bigger thanks to anyone still reading this. I like to think people are still reading this. I've just been so busy with other projects but I can't not work on this one. I need to get to the ending. I merely hope some of you guys will keep going to the end with me.

The man was glaring bloody daggers at him! John cleared his throat, feeling flaming heat spread along his face.

“Could you. . ah, repeat that.”

John couldn’t exactly fault the poor bloke. He just wasn’t getting the handle of Chinese. Only enough to get by but sometimes it just felt impossible to get every word. Which just led to awkward situations like this where he had to ask, sometimes more than once, for the person to repeat themselves.

The man spoke slower, tone far less welcoming.

Goods in hand John briskly headed off, rubbing the back of his neck. This was why he thought Sherlock should be the one to do some of the blasted errands. But no. Of course Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t be bothered to pick up anything, unless it had to do with those. . those experiments!

John mentally shivered at the faint memory of _something_ burning in the middle of their shared living space. 

Was this how their life was going to be? The murders had stopped after Forbes ‘disappeared’. When John had found out, his blood had ran cold before he’d flat out asked Sherlock if either Holmes brother had had any part of it. Sherlock had gone into graphic detail of what happened if someone displeased Jim, which was the roundabout way of saying no.

After that Sherlock's mood had taken a downward tilt, which was putting it gently.

Bored Sherlock was the type who either threatened to burn their home down by doing experiments, or he ended up needing to be carried home because whatever he’d taken had struck him so low. John hadn’t been happy about either but had let the experiments continue, preferring those to sleepless nights by Sherlock's bed wondering if the bastard would ever wake up.

Four months this had been dragging on. Each day John could see how Sherlock grew more frustrated. He wasn’t made to be kept content. Sherlock Holmes thrived on the life he’d had before.

John had considered why Mycroft hadn’t asked his brother to venture back out to sea, but had a little feeling it had something to do with him. Not that he wanted Sherlock pirating.

Clasping the poorly constructed netted bag in hand John hurried through the crowd, suddenly feeling too exposed.

The still unfamiliar cluster of strange smells mixed with words he couldn’t always understand were quickly becoming too much. Pausing at a corner he glanced over his shoulder, frowning. Something didn’t feel quite right.

 

John would be absolutely furious. Sherlock eyed the burnt to a crisp item that still smoked on the kitchen table. Mainly John would be furious about the smell of it. John was affected quite a bit by scents. That could certainly be something to consider at another point in time.

Sherlock walked away from the table, already unbothered by the mess he’d left behind. He was so dreadfully bored! His mind was slowly curling in upon itself, forcing him to search for another outlet. In the past he could easily find the dulling effects of drug use helpful. That blurry sensation that left him almost uncaring.

With a tremble he rubbed at his wrists, shaking his head. His mouth felt painfully dry as he remembered the last time John had dragged him home. It had been just a foolish misunderstanding. He had been perfectly capable of finding his way home but John had been so. . so John.

Taking a small sip of water he rolled his head to the side, working the kinks out. He had been perfectly fine but John had been so worried. And scared. The doctor's anger he could handle but Sherlock had been at a loss when he’d woken up the next morning and found John looking at him. Waiting for some sign that he had finally reached a threshold there would be no coming back from.

The ache was still there. This weak vessel craved that mind dulling sensation.

Sherlock growled in annoyance at himself. At how weak he felt.

John's timely interruption was more than a little welcome. Well, it would have been if he didn’t walk through the door looking abnormally pensive.

“John?”

His mind actually settled down when the man met his gaze.

“We aren’t being followed.” More of a guess as to if that were the thing bothering his doctor. John had been paranoid their first few weeks here, and always bore that sharp gaze.

“I know, Sherlock. I know that.” John murmured, tossing a glance over his shoulder anyway as if someone were behind the door.

Walking up to the other he placed a gentle hand on John's cheek, turning his face away from the door. “You are safe.” He whispered.

“It’s not just my safety I’m worried about.” John flushed darkly, eyes looking anywhere but at him. John always appeared embarrassed after letting such emotions peek through. Sherlock still found sentiment a weakness but knew it was a weakness they shared for each other.

Strong hands fisted in the front of his dressing gown, nearly causing Sherlock to stumble forward. “You bloody git.” The words were practically growled before the shorter man had pulled him down into a kiss.

The wired buzzing in his skull grew softer after each nipping kiss. It barely registered when John pulled away, frowning as he gave a small sniff.

 

Now that the scent had hit him John only hoped it didn’t spread.

“Sherlock!” He scolded, pushing past the taller figure. He wasn’t sure what he’d find but it could have been worse. Groaning weakly John tried to tell himself that and believe that but looking at the burned. . _thing_ on the table he couldn’t really buy it.

What even had it been?

No. No. That was a conversation he did NOT want to have again. Sherlock had amazing connections even in this city. The items he could get his elegant fingers on were mind blowing but so damned unnerving at the same time.

“Wh-“  
“Bored.”

“Right.” John licked his lips, debating the best way to clean this up. No burn marks on the table at least. “Clean it up.”

John had to remember he was annoyed before laughing at Sherlock's almost confused look. It was true he had been the one to clean up after Sherlock's experiments but not this time.

“Clean it up.” He said again, voice stronger and leaving no room for argument. Arms crossed John gave a nod towards the table, never breaking eye contact with his madman of a lover.

 

The whole ordeal went much smoother than John could have hoped. Sherlock hadn’t pouted nearly as much as John would have thought. Relaxing back with a book in hand and Olivia at his feet he felt rather accomplished about the whole thing.

Nimble fingers carded through his hair, the grip only just tight enough to tug at his attention.

“Sherlock?”

The book tumbled to the floor as cupid bow lips met his. John hadn’t even heard Sherlock behind him! He tried to give a little protest as a very familiar body suddenly occupied his lap, groins pressing against one another with just a little surge of Sherlock's hips.

Sherlock was hitting every arousing nerve. John could barely keep up as he gave a low groan, fingers fisting in the back of Sherlock's dressing gown. His arousal happened so suddenly John almost ached with it but he was far too distracted by soft lips trailing down his throat, gentle teeth nipping here and there.

What had brought this on?

 

Sherlock could feel the heat radiating off John, along with shock. It almost took him off guard just how arousing it was to get John excited but he gave his mind a mental shake. Now wasn’t the time to be getting lost in his own arousal. Not yet.

Licking over the other's racing pulse Sherlock arched his hips forward, giving a lewd moan that was somewhat comical but John loved his noises. The man practically shivered, fingers tightening at his back ever so slightly. Again Sherlock felt his mind start to become lulled by his lover's excitement.

The next sound he moaned was far less comical, the blood pooling between his thighs and forcing him to wiggle his hips.

John's hands had slipped down to his waist by this point, and now lingered at his hips. The grip went from tight to lax, not giving Sherlock any time to adjust either way. Was John playing his own little game now?

No. It couldn’t be. John wasn’t a very skilled actor to start with, and he seemed poised to go on a mindless rut in a matter of seconds.

In as graceful a way as possible Sherlock pulled himself out of John's grip, giving him merely a small brushing of lips. It was easy to ignore the hard wood digging into his knees as he knelt in front of John, instead focusing completely on the gentle grip in his curls.

Looking upward Sherlock met those fierce eyes, watching the internal struggle to keep calm and let things progress slowly. Always such a polite man. Resting his cheek on the other's thigh Sherlock gave a small grin, taking in the small quiver.

Without warning he pulled away, rising to his feet and turning with a small flare of the robe. Behind him John sucked in a breath, and Sherlock could feel the eyes burning into his back.

“Sherlock!”

“I should finish cleaning.”

The excuse was pitiful but it was supposed to be. A pin dropping could have been heard before John was out of the chair, Sherlock now over his shoulder.

Sherlock huffed out a gasp as the shoulder dug into his stomach. This. . this was something of a shock.

“John!”

A firm slap to his backside had the protest dying on Sherlock's lips, mind whirling and stuttering as John carried him almost easily to their shared sleeping space.

The English style bed was more for John's benefit, since he used it more often but Sherlock was rather glad for the extra padding and bounce as John dropped him atop it.

Strong hands pinned his wrists above his head, and Sherlock gave a tug as if to fight it but he didn’t mean it. John was a surprisingly strong man. Sherlock knew if he showed honest distress John would pull away, and most likely refuse to touch him for a good while but he didn’t want to fight.

On instinct his covered thighs parted as Johns dilated gaze ran over him.

“I almost can’t believe how much of a little shite you can be.” John said but it didn’t sound honestly angry.

“You said you wanted me to clean up my own mess. Did you not, John?” Sherlock licked his lips, adoring the sudden intake of breath on the other's part.

With a low growl John leaned over him, crushing their mouths together so roughly Sherlock felt his lower lip press a little too hard on his teeth.

John licked at the coppery liquid, suckling lovingly at the cut lip as Sherlock moaned and arched into the kiss. John's free hand was between his legs now, rubbing at the proof of how wonderfully Sherlock responded to this.

 

He really should have seen that coming. Sherlock was a bloody genius but also a giant child at times. Asking him to take responsibility for his mess was a risk unto itself.  
Licking over the little cut on his lover's lip John used one hand to undo the loose knot of his robe, parting the fabric with a pleased noise. As Sherlock gave another half-hearted tug to his wrists John squeezed, feeling the bones grind together until Sherlock gave a pitiful whine and arched his hips.

“I could leave you like this now.” John commented, bracing his hand next to Sherlock's head so he could look down at the other. God in Heaven save him but Sherlock was beautiful. Every sharp angle of his face was so perfectly defined but so soft, his eyes that were always so bright in thought were dilated so much so they were nearly just pupils, and his lips. . his wonderfully plump lips were swollen with their rough kiss. And they parted now as if Sherlock were going to protest but quickly closed, eyes shifting away to break their gaze. “Didn’t say I would do that.” He added with a scoff.

It was rather tempting but he wouldn’t do that.

Not for long anyway.

In a matter of moments Sherlock's trousers were on the floor, forgotten as John wrapped his fingers around the straining length.

Sherlock's body bowed upward at first contact before he lay back, trembling. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, no doubt trying to keep from crying out. John fully admitted he wasn’t like Sherlock in being able to observe, it just wasn’t something that came naturally to him but he knew Sherlock's body.

He knew Sherlock was struggling to keep calm. That, with every stroke of his hand, Sherlock's self-control was crumbling. John also knew the small signs that pointed to when his lover was enjoying things a little too much.

With a rather skilled hand John kept up the slow but firm gripped stroking, using the clear liquid leaking from Sherlocks tip as lubricant. Every few moments John would increase the speed of his hand, watching Sherlock's closed eyed expression. Then, almost as quickly as he’d started, John would slow his hand down to almost stopping.

“You-“ Sherlock's voice was a breathy mess that required him to clear his throat before continuing. “You won’t be able to keep this up for long. Even without looking I can hear the slight increase of your breathing, the slight way your hips grind into the bed. It’s only a matter of—Oh!”

John gave a smirk around the cock in his mouth, noting the way Sherlock had gone rather speechless. Both hands now gripped Sherlock's hips, keeping him in place as his tongue teased the slit.

After a few minutes John pulled up and away, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “What was that? Don’t think I quite heard you.”

Sherlock gave an annoyed huff, glaring down the length of his body. “If you intend not to finish what you started might I suggest you ‘piss off’? Using a term that appears to make up most of your vocabulary.”

John gave the man's thigh a gentle slap, grinning at the trembling it created. Not to mention that little flare in his eyes.

“I almost hate it when you’re right.” John sighed good-naturedly before moving upward, kissing the pleased expression off the other's face.

There were other days he could tease and tease until Sherlock was a begging mess. Right now John just craved the contact between their bodies, needing to feel Sherlock's warmth. There would be plenty of time for other things.

Both gave a moan into the kiss, Sherlock allowing John to push him further up on the bed. The fact he still wore his shirt and dressing gown went ignored, as did the fact John was still completely dressed minus his boots. Breaking apart just to finish stripping felt like too much.

John fumbled with the ties to his breeches, only moving his hand aside as nimble and talented fingers took over. 

Things were something of a blur after that.

The carefully prepared coconut oil Sherlock insisted on making was in hand, the cool jar feeling delicate in John's shaking grip.

It took what was literally mere moments to ease Sherlock open, but John would have sworn it took hours. Three fingers moving hard and fast, scissoring to make things easier on his lover. Sherlock squeezed at the soft linens, throat straining to keep from crying out. He was always so bloody stubborn like that.

 

His body burned. Every inch of him begged for this agony to end but Sherlock didn’t beg. Not verbally anyway. His hips arched, feet planted on the bed to give his body better leverage and allow John better access. 

Only when John took his fingers away did Sherlock groan, confused as to why that was a good thing in that moment. Soon enough something far better slipped inside him, the tight pressure a far more pleasing sensation than fingers could ever be.

“John.” Sherlock moaned at the slight pain, resting his hand's on Johns back.

“Shh, love, I got you.” John murmured against his lips, kissing him softly as he started to move. Each thrust was a testament to how much self-control his John Watson had. Sherlock knew until he said he wanted more John would keep going slow, never wanting to cause discomfort or even risk it.

Digging his nails into John's still covered back Sherlock turned his head, nipping hard at the other's earlobe. “Surely you can do better than that.”

“You bastard.” John chuckled, grabbing one leg behind the knee and pulling it up. The angle looked a bit strange but Sherlock knew what was coming.

Bracing his hands against whatever he could Sherlock couldn’t hold back as John did what they both wanted.

With almost every thrust John hit that bundle of nerves inside him, causing stars to flash across Sherlock's vision as he cried out. His bobbing member bounced between them, neglected but still throbbing.

“John!” Sherlock moaned loudly, tears in his eyes as John picked up the pace. It hurt but he wanted more. Everything John could give him he wanted. Craved.

He knew the instant before it happened that John was there. The slight swell of the hot cock inside him, the way his hips stuttered for half a thrust. Sherlock almost reached between them, his bobbing groin becoming too bothersome for him to ignore further. As his fingers wrapped around the hot flesh John gave a loud shout, slamming into him one more time.

It was truly beyond anything Sherlock could have planned for. With not even a full stroke to himself he was practically crying out John's name, his seed staining both bodies and clothing.

 

The world came back in little bursts. At first all John could focus on was his own ragged breathing, and the amazingly fast pace of Sherlock's heartbeat. Elbows keeping him from falling right on top of the other he relaxed there, eyes closed and lips curled into a little smile. Sherlock stroked his back slowly, tenderly.

Never would he have thought his life would end up anything close to this but he wouldn’t change it for the world. Placing gentle kisses along Sherlock's throat and collarbone he went to pull away, feeling a twitch in his lower back.

Ah, more proof that age was finally catching up to him. Before he could fall over for a little nap Sherlock needed to be taken care of first.

Gentle hands pushed John onto his side, Sherlock moving with far too much speed and ease. The taller figure moved around the room, cleaning first himself and then John.  
John grabbed the hand holding the flannel, using it to tug Sherlock down into a kiss. The look exchanged between them was soft, saying a million more things than words could ever hope to do.

“Rest, John.” Sherlock broke away first, cheeks flushed pink.

Just a short nap and then he could finish doing... doing whatever he needed to do. Tugging Sherlock down to the bed John wrapped a protective arm around the man's waist, kissing those soft curls.

 

That spot in his lower back was still aching somewhat. John couldn’t help but reach around to rub the area slightly, sighing. Sherlock wasn’t that much younger than him but he never appeared to get these little aches and pains. Which John was glad for. He didn’t want his lover feeling discomfort after sex.

Rubbing the back of his neck John silently scolded himself. Maybe a longer nap would help. Sherlock had been too restless to stay still for long, and John had decided to carry on with his own tasks. Mainly finishing up the cleaning Sherlock had left behind.

Glancing over his shoulder John frowned, distracted now by a returned feeling of being watched. The crowd around him moved easily, talking among itself and seemingly so normal. Picking up pace John hurried to get back home, all other aches and pains forgotten with just that thought in mind.

It was around a corner, in a spot where crowding lagged long enough for him to actually be alone. It was there that the person following him came into view, and John could honestly say he felt his heart stop.

Sebastian Moran was still the same. Tall, oddly elegant, but so very deadly. He made his appearance known and seemed so completely unbothered by it. Like they were just two mates who hadn’t seen each other in quite some time.

“John Watson, you are looking surprisingly well.” Sebastian gave an easy smile, not even bothered when John obviously searched for a weapon. “Jim isn’t here.”

“As if that’s supposed to make this better?” John asked, willing his heartbeat to calm down. Couldn’t think clearly if he was about to panic.

Sebastian nodded seriously. “I completely understand, Doctor. Jim...” He looked thoughtful for a second, “Jim doesn’t leave the best impressions. Not where Holmes is involved.”

Sherlock! John tensed, hands fisting at his sides.

“Now now, Doctor. Sherlock is unharmed.” Sebastian held both hands up. “I did not come on orders to harm you. If that were the case you would already be dead.”

Oddly enough that did not make him feel better. John wanted to go find Sherlock and get him away from that madman's lapdog. 

“They are brilliant men.”

John frowned, a little thrown off by this turn of conversation.

“Jim, Sherlock. They are brilliant men. I had never seen anything quite like it until I met him.” His warm smile didn’t quite reach his eyes but John didn’t doubt the emotion in his voice. “They are both brilliant, dangerous, insane. For men like us what more could we ask for?”

John didn’t say anything but he heard every word. And understood what Moran meant.

“Except you would disagree in me comparing Sherlock to Jim. Does that bother you, John?”

“Why are you here?” John kept his tone brisk, jaw set hard. This had to be a distraction of some sort.

Sebastian chuckled, nodding. “You missed Captain Lestrade's wedding.”

Greg.

John felt his knees shake. He hadn’t heard anything from his friend in weeks but he had just assumed everything was fine. Mycroft... Mycroft was supposed to be...   
In a blur of movement John had Moran back against a wall, knife at his throat. “Where is he?”

Sebastian barely blinked at the threatening actions, ‘tsking’ softly.

“You would think a bride would be happy on her wedding day.”

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX 

Even if he hadn’t had eyes and ears everywhere Mycroft would have heard about the wedding. On this island he had heard about how perfect the wedding had been. That everyone important had been in attendance. The bride had been lovely, and her tears had been just oh so perfect in how happy she was.

Those few days even Athena had been hesitant to approach him. 

Logically it had made sense to keep an eye on the newlywed couple. Of course, things were rather... slow now. Forbes had been found hung with a note confessing all of the murders. It had been such a messy matter but had been tied up so very neatly. Magnessun had left nothing without an ending, or Moriarty he really should say.

Mycroft stroked the delicate teacup stem, letting out a sigh. The tea had long ago had gone cold, not that he bothered drinking it.

His ships were sailing with ease. The profits were quite handsome, even without Sherlock here but something wasn’t right.

A man such as himself loathed to judge any situation based on instinct. Nothing more than a weapon of the weak minded who refused to see the obvious but Mycroft couldn’t shake that feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Mycroft leaned back, absentmindedly fidgeting with the tea cup as he stared out the window. He wasn’t foolish enough to assume something was wrong without proof but at the sound of Athena's footsteps pausing for half a second outside his door he knew.

Her silence was normal but more serious than usual. Her tight-lipped expression giving everything away even before she placed the note on his desk. The carefully crafted spider made of wax stood out on the stark white paper, and Mycroft could hear the glee in the creator's voice.

_Sherlock has news for you!_

It was almost too perfect when Sherlock's ship was announced at port merely a fortnight later. Mycroft had barely slept since that note, always hearing the familiar cackling amusement whenever he tried closing his eyes.

Even before Athena had come to rouse him he had been dressed, fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of his cane. Making his way to the dock to greet his younger brother Mycroft prepared himself for whatever news Sherlock might bring him, and judging by how excited the note had been there could only be one real cause to it.

In the carriage on his way to the dock Mycroft remembered the last note from his set of eyes. The only one he had actually burned.

The bride had been lovely, and Gregory Lestrade had beamed with pride as he looked down at her. The day had been blessed, according to those simpletons. Not even a cloud in the sky. Mycroft had felt overcome with something he didn’t dare dwell on but others had known.

He hadn’t been careful enough. Somewhere there had been a flaw. Something he had missed.

Stepping onto the deck to greet Sherlock the younger Holmes eyes had been enough to freeze the greeting on his lips.

“Mycroft, I-“

“Moriarty has deemed it necessary to have Captain Lestrade under his possession.” Mycroft said it easily, as if the very idea didn’t send daggers into his gut.

John Watson stood behind Sherlock, and Mycroft could hear the scoffing disbelief in his voice at the cool comment but Sherlock said nothing for a moment.

“I hardly see why you thought it crucial to come this far to inform me.” He added, ignoring John easily as the man made some other unintelligent noise.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock was suddenly there, eyes unblinking and face firmly set.

They never needed to really say anything. That was how their relationship went. A mere look exchanged a hundred different meanings, and for a second Mycroft slipped. That was all it took for Sherlock to nod sharply.

Moriarty had Gregory. Must have had him for quite some time judging by the silence on his spy's end.

“I have been a fool.” Mycroft barely heard the words leave his lips, nor did they register until Sherlock glanced over his shoulder towards John.

“Haven’t we all, brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments comments comments! Please. Just something. Anything. I just need to know if people still care enough to keep reading.


	9. London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, as usual, huge thanks to my beta reader. Fantastic person to work with.
> 
> Also, just as a warning, this chapter is like a 'filler' to a certain degree. Story picks up next chapter.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

#####  The Wedding 

Before him stood a vision. The very thing people prayed a bride to be on her wedding. Rebecca had never been what many would consider a beautiful woman but Greg hadn’t wanted beauty. He had liked her for the snippy remarks, the sheer intelligence he’d believed to be shining in those eyes he felt guilty looking into now, the sheer package of what he’d thought he wanted.

With Mycroft gone there had only been the wedding to focus on.

Days turned into hours and Greg forced his mind away from Mycroft Holmes. The constant questions from Lady Oates about his ‘wonderful cousin’ had been easy to distract her from. All he had to do was ask about the wedding and she went on and on.

Now he stood there, looking at this beautiful woman and feeling. . nothing. Taking her hand in his Greg looked at their hands, squeezing gently but only to see if this hollowness extended outwards as well. When they kissed there had been polite sounds of encouragement, a few claps, and Greg had only felt Rebecca tremble against his lips.

Greg linked her hand carefully into the crook of his bended elbow, almost wincing at the sharp nails digging into his arm. Stealing a closer look at his new wifes face he was half-tempted to ask what was wrong.

Rebecca looked frozen. The smile on her face was nice and fit the mood perfectly but it wasn’t right. She didn’t smile like this.

“Oh! You just look so happy together!” Lady Oates had appeared, kissing her daughters cheek and then pulling Greg into a hug.

The reception was the best of everything Lord and Lady Oates could provide. The best sort of people attending, the food was perfection, and the selection of drinks and wines was superb.

There were gents from his military days but no actual family. His mum had long since passed and that really left no one. It was something that hadn’t actually been discussed.   
That Rebecca was honestly marrying well below rank merely because she had held out for so long but he had money, and for now it was enough to cover up the very low position he’d been born into.

A few times he glanced around, hoping to see John but no such luck. Everything that had happened, was still happening actually, it wouldn’t have been san for John to just appear at his wedding.

With his mind drifting to John it slowly wandered onto Sherlock, and then back to Mycroft. 

Cursing himself mentally but very sternly Greg had pulled Rebecca into a waltz, trying to forget everything but that very moment.

 

The cup was placed softly by his hand on the dining room table, a delicate female hand going to his shoulder.

“Gregory.”

A bit stunned he looked up at his wife, giving a small grin. “Almost forgotten what you sounded like, love.” He teased carefully.

Rebecca had been so quiet the last few weeks. Greg had tried talking to her, pushing a tiny bit until she only snapped at him to leave her alone. While he’d never been John when it came to women he knew better than to say anything else.

Now Rebecca stood next to him, chuckling softly. “Yes, well, please consider this my peace offering.” She explained, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

Taking a small sip of the warm tea Greg actually felt a bit better. The warmth wasn’t even faded by the time he felt a dulling sensation start spreading.

“Rebecca.”

“Gregory, I am so sorry.”

The china cup shattered as he threw it as hard as he could, shoving himself away from the table only to stumble to his knees.

Gentle hands grabbed his shoulders, urging him to stay down.

“Don’t hurt yourself. It’ll be over in a few minutes. It’ll be fine.” Rebeccas voice faded in and out as spots played before his vision. “I’m so sorry.” Was the last thing he heard before everything went black.

 

At some point the days had started blurring together.

Jerking awake from the same dream like memory Greg squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force away the bitter self-resentment.

Thinking back on it now Greg hated how stupid he had been. Rebecca had grown steadily cooler towards him as the wedding date advanced, and assuming things had just changed overnight had been him being beyond naïve. At the wedding itself she had smiled but hadn’t spoken to him, her grip on his arm had been too tight and her nails dug through his sleeve as if she tried to anchor herself. 

After that her cool demeanor had grown to barely concealed detachment. Unless she absolutely had to she never spoke to him, barely looked at him. Greg hadn’t known what to do.

Coughing weakly around the pain in his chest Greg had the bitter thought he should have just left. He hadn’t so much as kissed her their wedding night, nor any night after that. Why hadn’t he just left? It was quite clear whatever danger Mycroft had thought him safe from had just followed him, and his wife had been more than happy for it.

Closing his eyes Greg could still hear her voice as things had started to blur. She had whispered how sorry she was right before everything went black.

Now. . now he was in some windowless room with only a few lamps as a light source. Greg couldn’t bet accurately on how long he’d been here but it didn’t stop him from trying to think of a way out.

It was a small tapping noise that broke his concentration. The sound was so faint it might not have even been there but Greg heard it.

“Oh, Captain! You should have told me you were awake!” The speaker gave a little giggle as if he’d said something clever. 

“If you’re done mind bringing me a pint?” Greg asked, tugging at the strong rope keeping his left wrist tied to mental ring in the wall. At least the floors were clean. “Feel as if I deserve that much, aye?”

The giggle grew louder before the man stepped into view. He looked so bloody small normally. The fellow who followed him around all the time had that effect Greg guessed. Alone he looked small but still dangerous.

Where Magnussen had reminded Greg of a shark this man was worse but he couldn’t place any one animal to name. He looked like everything a person should pray they never came across.

“Maybe tell me who the hell you are.” Greg offered in a more sarcastic tone.

With a dramatically offended expression the man walked closer, bending down until they were nearly nose to nose.

“Where is the fun in that, Captain Lestrade?”

 

Mycroft had always been a man who had a healthy appetite. Where Sherlock pushed away the notion of eating unless his body was close to giving out, Mycroft embraced food.  
Taking another decent sip of wine he eyed the wonderfully prepared spread in front of him. Mrs. Hudson's meal was hard to ignore but his stomach gave an unwelcome roll at the idea of eating any of it.

Sighing softly he merely retreated inward, thinking around the haze of wine he’d consumed over actual food.

Chances were his spies he’d had watching over Gregory were dead. Contact from his other eyes and ears appeared normal. Not even a hitch in their normal delivery.

So, Moriarty had only gone after Gregory. 

Perhaps it was time for another visit to London.

##  xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

John couldn’t settle on just one emotion it felt like. He felt worried for his best friend, guilty at having left Greg alone, and so many other things.

Wincing at the almost scalding tea he pulled back, coughing at the burning sensation running down his throat before setting the cup aside.

“John.” Sherlock's annoyed tone from the couch set his temper almost flaring.

They were back in the home Sherlock had used when living on the island and John could not get comfortable. He shouldn’t just be sitting around doing nothing when Greg needed him!

“What have I done now, Sherlock? Did I sip too loudly again?” John growled.

The relaxed form moved into a sitting position, blank eyes no doubt reading everything in a matter of seconds.  
“You are acting like a fool.”

John bristled further, words catching in his throat at the rush of emotion.

“Beg your bloody pardon? It’s foolish of me to. . to what? Worry over a friend?” John stood, feeling the anger vibrate down his spine. If Sherlock were worried he showed no trace, merely raised an eyebrow in that way that said ‘see?’. Which, of course, only had John ready to wipe what he saw as an overly smug expression off that beautiful face.

“It’s foolish of you to drive yourself to distraction with it. Your judgment is clouded by emotion. You are acting like one of those drunken cretins you would even laugh at.” Sherlock remained calm, standing slowly as if to not risk him taking it as a challenge.

The fact Sherlock had a point had John ready to scream.

“I should be back in London!” He shouted, raking fingers through his hair. Why wasn’t he there now? Oh yes, of course, Sherlock had convinced him to wait just a day or two. The man he had had to save multiple times from rushing into trouble was now telling him to wait?

“You will be, John.” Sherlock stepped in closer, holding his hands up.

Shoving the hands away John glared up at him. How could he be so bloody calm? Even Mycroft seemed to feel something.

“John, you are not a fool but you have the capacity for it.”

John opened his mouth to retort as Sherlock talked over him.

“Rushing into a web set up by Moriarty is not what you want to do. If your recklessness caused Lestrade any harm you would never forgive yourself. What you are doing now is only going to have adverse effects, and it is my duty to ensure that does not happen.”

“Your ‘duty’?” Making him sound like some type of ward or something!

Sherlock flushed, looking nervous for the first time since this whole news had been given.

“We are currently involved in what many would deem a relationship sharing characteristics of lovers. It has always been my understanding most would consider it a duty to ensure their lover does not come to harm.”

John frowned, now more confused than angry.

“You’re worried about me?”

The red grew darker, the silver eyes no longer quite meeting his.

“I merely observe how even Mycroft struggled not to rush things, and... how I... felt when Moriarty had... kidnapped you.” The words were said clearly but the voice wavered ever so slightly. John almost wasn’t sure he’d even caught it.

It was like his anger melted and he almost wanted to laugh. Instead he simply reached out to wrap his arms around the taller figure, squeezing him tightly for a second before pulling back. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

 

What game was Moriarty playing at?

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, turning his head just enough to where pale blonde hair tickled his nose. He barely noticed the tensing of his fingers into John's back, holding the man closer as he closed his eyes.

Mycroft was not himself right now. At one point Sherlock would have laughed, throwing everything in his brother's face that had been preached to him over the years.

Standing there with John in his arms, remembering what had happened he only felt sympathy. 

“Sherlock?”

John was growing confused at the duration of said embrace. Sherlock didn’t let go for another moment or two, placing a soft kiss against the hairs tickling his nose.  
“We will get him back.”

His hands went to rest on John's shoulders, giving him space while still keeping contact.

Had he done this right? John appeared more relaxed. The doctor was obviously still worried but he gave one of those careless grins that made Sherlock's stomach knot ever so slightly.

“We will get him back, John.” Sherlock repeated . “When have I ever been wrong?”, when the grin didn’t quite reach the others eyes.

Now John laughed, head thrown back and warmth filling each sound.

“Sherlock Holmes developing a sense of humor? I must be dreaming.” John finally said, wiping his eyes before capturing his lover's face and pulling Sherlock into a kiss.

It truly was very tempting to linger there, and allow John to continue things further but there was something else that needed to be dealt with.

He wasn’t overly fond of leaving John alone but Mrs. Hudson was, again, close by with Olivia. And there were ‘Mycroft's eyes’ everywhere - that much Sherlock knew as soon as he managed to get outside. 

Mycroft was even more paranoid. While there had always been eyes to watch him this amount was rather absurd. Any amount was absurd! Sherlock hated it, always had when Mycroft played the over protective older brother card.

No. Taking a deep breath Sherlock crushed down the flaring annoyance. John was falling prey to his baser emotions, and forcing him into the role of level headed wasn’t the best option. Well, Sherlock knew he could force John into that role. Go back in ranting about Mycroft before disappearing just to spite his older brother but that would be selfish. 

Hmm. Maybe he was growing soft.

Sherlock pondered on the idea while walking. This is what lovers did though, wasn’t it? Took care of each other and John required that in this moment.

As for Mycroft. His older brother was more distraught than Sherlock had originally thought. He had known Mycroft cared for Lestrade. Anyone with common sense would have seen that, or so Sherlock assumed. He had gotten into the bad habit of assuming most everyone wasn’t a complete idiot.

Seeing Mycroft like this was somewhat unnerving. He had watched Mycroft growing up. Their father had said it was him idolizing his older brother like most younger boys. Sherlock had huffed, childish eyes dead serious as he’d just said he needed to keep an eye on Mycroft so he wouldn’t get sat on and crushed.

 

“You plan on returning to London.” Sherlock could see it the second he stepped through the door. Mycroft was deep in thought but spared a wave of his hand in greeting.

“As are you, Sherlock.” Mycroft murmured, dragging himself out of thought. “Doctor Watson can no longer handle standing by, hm? A man such as himself must be growing quite restless.”

“John is hardly your concern, Mycroft.” Sherlock sneered, trying to remember why he was here. Yes. He had to be the voice of reason. John needed him to be the voice of reason.

“John certainly has made an impression on you. Mummy would be so pleased.”

Biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood Sherlock had to pretend John was standing beside him, his presence enough to ease his tension.

“John and I are to return to London on the next ship. Moriarty has set up a beautiful game. It would be rude to ignore it.”

What would John say to that? Sherlock knew this was part of Moriarty's game. Everything the little bastard did was part of their game together.

Their expressions locked, and to everyone else it would give the impression of contemptuous glares but each Holmes saw beyond that.

“Do try not to get yourself killed, Sherlock.”

When he left Sherlock did not look back. His blood was pumping, heart soaring with the excitement of what they were about to walk into together. ‘Together’. Sherlock grinned to himself as his pace picked up. Yes. John would be with him.

 

John was a little startled when Molly showed up. It wasn’t a negative surprise but he felt guilty at having not thought to see her already. He’d been so single minded the last day or so. He wasn’t even aware she knew he was back, not that it was a secret that Sherlock had made port.

“Is it true?”

The greeting on his tongue died at the somber expression she wore. His own forced pleasantness melted away, shoulders sagging. God he was so bloody tired. He hadn’t known Molly and Greg were so close but it made sense knowing each of them.

Straightening his spine John sighed, meeting her eyes. Her gaze wasn’t accusing but he had enough guilt for ten people blaming him for this.

“Molly, I had no idea something like this would happen.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I should have known better.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

But he should have! John raked fingers through his short hair, temper flaring ridiculously when he managed to snag a few hairs.

“John. .”

Finally forcing himself to look at her he tried to relax, even going so far as to smile. Molly reached out to squeeze his arm, smiling gently.

“Greg wouldn’t want you to feel like this. Neither does Sherlock. You couldn’t have known what Jim planned.” Molly pulled away but not before John felt the shiver that ran through her.

“You knew him.” More a statement than question but something in the way she spoke about Moriarty said she knew what he was capable of. And Molly didn’t seem the type to be sucked in by mere rumors.

“Briefly, you could say.” Molly blushed darkly, biting her lower lip somewhat as she looked away.

The ‘briefly’ hung in the air between them. Molly didn’t explain further and John didn’t ask. Besides, he had a rather good idea of what it meant. Not as smart as Sherlock but not nearly as stupid as a Holmes might assume.

Quickly John switched the conversation over, asking Molly how she’d been carrying on since he’d been gone. It was almost enough to take his mind off everything. They sat there talking until John was laughing at a story Molly swore happened, her own laughter being the only gap in the story.

It was only a gut feeling that had John glancing up, his heart giving a little jolt when he found Sherlock just standing there. Most likely observing a conversation he had no desire to partake in but he looked thoughtful, not to mention a little closed off. Without a second thought John stood, concern piercing through merriment.

His hand was almost on Sherlock's arm when the taller figure reached out, long fingers cupping his face almost tenderly as Sherlock bent down.

John had wanted to greet his friend, and lover, but this was a bit more than expected. The moment those cupid bow lips touched his John felt his body relax, eyes almost drifting closed as his lips softened. It was just instinct but it suddenly clicked that Molly was standing right behind him!

“Sherlock!” John hissed, shoving the man away but not letting go of his shirt. When Sherlock went to step around him John tightened his grip, giving a small yank. “Oi. No pouting.”

“I do not ‘pout’, John. I am not a child.” Sherlock huffed.

Oh bloody hell. This stupid prat. John was a little hesitant about being open about his relationship to anyone, and for damn good reason. Sherlock was Sherlock though.

Leaning in closer Sherlock held his wrists gently. “I understand.”

“Bloody bastard.” John sighed, kissing him softly. Sod it. John didn’t see Molly as the type they needed to hide this from, and he’d rather lose a bigot than risk hurting Sherlock.

“Maybe I should leave?” Molly's voice was more giggly than anything, and when John pulled away he realized only then that the little intended peck had turned into Sherlock placing a hand at his lower back and the other cradling the back of his head.

“We do have rather urgent business to discuss.” Sherlock agreed, never taking his eyes from John's face.

John felt more than a little embarrassed at his own lack of control. Wiggling out of Sherlock's grip he gave a weak grin at Molly, seeing her out.

“Be safe, Molly.” God, a part of him really didn’t want to see her go. Was she safe?

“I’ll be fine.” She chuckled.

 

Sherlock made himself comfortable when John went to walk Molly out. It was on the tip of his tongue to say Mycroft had people trailing Molly as well but John would go anyway. It was in his nature.

Stretching out on the couch he closed his eyes, finger-tips meeting under his chin as he thought. They would leave soon. Considering John had been ready to depart straight for London after getting the news Sherlock was mildly surprised his partner hadn’t physically dragged him to an available ship.

John was putting a lot of trust in him. Trusting that following along with his plans would get them to Lestrade quickly.

“Sherlock?”

Even with his eyes closed Sherlock could mentally trace exactly where John was standing, and where he was heading even before he took a spot in the chair that had somehow become his. And Sherlock heard the unspoken question.

“Yes, John.” He answered, cracking one eye open to glance at his Watson. “Back to London we go it seems.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finish reading through that? Great! You're fantastic. Love you bunches. :3
> 
> Comments are loved, kudos are adored. So on and so forth.

**Author's Note:**

> Finish reading that? Thank you! You're fantastic. Truly.
> 
> As before, comments comments comments! I love them. Plus, comments just make my day even better. If you can't/don't have time I understand though.
> 
> Kudos are also nice but if you feel the story doesn't deserve it yet I completely understand.


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